A Numb3rs Serenade
by Thesaurusgirl
Summary: A beautiful woman in tears. He should have known it was trouble from the start
1. Chapter 1

**Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in! Thought I'd have a little fun with this one so, it's a different. For one thing Colby and David are not FBI agents, they're a couple of private investigators. For another, the story is set in 1947 Los Angeles. Some of the lingo will be true to that time period. Of course, I don't own any of the Numb3rs characters or any part of Numb3rs. Original characters are mine. There's a glossary at the end of the prologue to help with some of the 40's slang. **

A Numb3rs Serenade

Prologue

The first thing he noticed about her was the fabulous nylon clad getaway sticks. His eyes almost involuntarily traveled up their length to rest on her luminous chocolate brown orbs. Not too many dames of this caliber walked thru the doors of C & D Private Investigations. She wasn't no chippy. He twigged to that right from the start. He had to force himself to concentrate on her distraught plea.

"You gotta help me, Mr. Granger! You just gotta! I don't know what I'll do if you turn me down. I love Charlie so much, and he's in a real jam! We both are! You just gotta help us! You just gotta!" She punctuated her distress with a muffled sob, dabbing at her eyes with a flimsy square of embroidered linen.

Colby squirmed in the wooden desk chair. Teary broads always made him uncomfortable. What was a guy supposed to do when a female turned on the water works? He wasn't the "there there" type, no two ways about that.

The P.I. took momentary refuge in what he could see of the steamy L.A. night thru his office window. A full moon, half hidden by wispy clouds hung in the night sky. Distant sirens sang out from different directions locations. Sounded like the hammer and saws were having themselves a busy night. Lotta mugs were going to be decorating the clubhouse before it was over.

He returned his attention to the beautiful woman in front of him. She'd gotten herself under control, with minor sniffling the only evidence of her prior upset.

"Miss Ramanujan," Colby Granger replied, stumbling a little over the unusual name, "I'm sure C & D Investigations can help you and… Professor Eppes, did you say?" He waited for her nod in the affirmative. "I'm sure we can help you, but I'm gonna need for you to start from the top. Exactly what is it you need for us to help you with?" Colby figured if he could get her talking, she wouldn't start bawling again. He'd do anything to avoid that.

"It…it's Charlie! He's missing! I haven't heard from him in four days! I tried calling him. I even went to his place, and to CalSci, but he's not there. He's just nowhere to be found! Something's wrong, he's in dutch! I know he is! You gotta help me!" She appeared ready to break into tears again.

To head that off, Granger said quickly," just because you haven't been able to get in touch with him doesn't mean something's wrong, you know. Maybe he went out of town." Colby though back to his own college days. His professors were always attending a conference or symposium somewhere, leaving the teaching to their assistants "He's a college professor. Maybe the school sent him someplace, like to a conference or something"

"No, no! It's nothing like that. I checked. I checked with the dean of his department. Charlie is supposed to be teaching classes right now. He's a math professor. He's supposed to be teaching and working with his students and that's all. They didn't have him scheduled to go to any conferences. Besides, you don't understand. Charlie and I, we see each other every day. He wouldn't just go away without saying anything to me! Please, I know something's happened to him. I know it! Please, Mr. Granger, Please! Whatever you charge, I can pay! Please help me!"

Colby shrugged internally. She was a potential paying client. C & D Private Investigations needed all of those they could get. The business's clientele tended to be mostly on the lower end of the social spectrum. People the coppers and other more established private investigators turned away. He and David Sinclair's always struggling operation could use the lettuce, that much was certain.

"Alright, Miss Ramanujan, C & D will take your case. Twenty dollars a day plus expenses. We can get started as soon as we receive the first payment."

She reached into her purse, one of those beaded jobs without a strap, Colby saw, and extracted an envelope.

"There's a C note in here. That's enough to buy your services for five days. I can get more if it comes to that. Just please promise me you'll find Charlie!" The desperate note in her voice was once again tinged with the promise of tears.

"I can't make any promises" he told her honestly. One thing he and David agreed on from the start, you always had to play it straight with the paying customers. "But we'll do the best we can for you."

He saw the lovely woman safely into a taxi after making sure she was calm, and returned to his office. He'd get started tracking down the professor, (how hard could it be to put the arm on an egghead teacher?) while he waited for his partner to return. Where was Sinclair anyway? Colby hadn't heard from him since the last regular check-in time. Hope he's not in trouble, Granger thought. Another call was due anytime now. He'd try not to worry until after that.

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**Glossary**

**Egghead-very smart person**

**Getaway Sticks-Legs **

**Hammer and saws, buttons, coppers, John laws, flatfoot, buzzers- Cops**

**Clubhouse-police station**

**Mugs, Rube, Sap- Fool someone not to bright**

**Gat, heater, rod, roscoe-gun**

**Chicago overcoat, chilled off, taken for a ride- death, to be killed**

**Chicago lightning-gunfire**

**Chippy-woman of easy virtue**

**Eggs in the coffee, duck soup, piece of cake-Easy, no problem **

**Elbows checked-get arrested**

**Flophouse-cheap hotel**

**Flop-go to bed**

**On the nut-broke**

**Hen fruit-eggs**

**Dope-information**

**Beef-to grumble**

**Big house-Prison**

**Bracelets-handcuffs**

**Boozehound-alcoholic**

**Fade, breeze, dust, drift, take a powder, dangle-to leave**

**Shamus-private detective**

**Clip joint-bar or club that cheats customers**

**Chiv-Knife**

**The big sleep, knock off, blipped off, croak-death, to be killed**

**Peterman-safecracker**

**Broad, dame, doll, kitten-woman**

**Busted flush-a failure, in poker an incomplete hand of cards of the same suit**

**C note, Century-A hundred dollars**

**Dark meat, dinge- black person**

**Dough, lettuce, cabbage, geetus, rhino-money**

**Grab air-put hands in the air in surrender**

**Hack-taxi**

**Mitts, digits-hands**

**Stiff-corpse**

**Youse-plural form of you**

**Five spot, fin-five dollars**

**Behind the eight ball-in a tight spot or bad situation**

**Ameche-telephone**

**Canary-woman singer**

**Drink out of the same bottle-close friends**

**Dry gulch-get hit on the head, knocked out**

**Pro skirt-prostitute **

**I don't know from nothing-I don't know anything**

**Go climb up your thumb, scram out-get lost, go away**

**Goog-black eye**

**Hatchetmen, henchmen, goons, hoods, droppers-hired killers ,thugs, gunmen**

**Palooka, dopes-a guy or guys who are not too smart**

**Close your head-shut up**

**Dizzy with a dame-to be deeply in love with a woman**

**Hitting on all eight-in good shape**

**Highbinder -corrupt officials, usually politicians**

**Out on the roof- to be drunk**

**Stogie, rope-cigar**

**Moxie-nerve, bravado**

**Give someone the gate-throw some out or leave them as in a marriage**

**Put the elbow on-take possession of**

**Jingle-brained-addled**

**Chopper-machine gun**

**In dutch-in big trouble**

**the clean sneak-give someone the slip, get away unnoticed**

**soup job-a robbery where explosives are used**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I'll say it again, 'cause I gotta. I ain't go no part of Numb3rs or any of the characters. Too bad, but dems da breaks. Original characters, they belong to me, da lousy , that's over. And awwwwway we go!**

A Numb3rs Serenade

Chapter 1

"The worst part about all this," David Sinclair fumed silently, listening to the robust, rhythmic groaning of the bedsprings just above his head, "is that Colby is gonna give me grief about it until the day I die."

Their client, Sally Humboldt had come to C & D Private Investigations sure, in only the way a wife can be, that her husband, movie mogul Sherman Humboldt, had a piece of extra marital fluff stashed away somewhere. The wronged missus was determined to make her errant husband pay dearly for his indiscretion. Before she could put the elbow on their joint accounts, however, and then give her spouse the gate, she needed proof. That explained why David was currently hiding under a bed while Humboldt and his mistress engaged in yet another round of bump and snicker. He ground his teeth, enduring the groans, grunts, giggles and squeals of the lovers as best he could. Sinclair had to hand it to the movie producer. A guy Humboldt's age with this much…energy was impressive. And with a woman less than half his years too. Under any other circumstances David might want to shake his hand or buy him a drink. Right now, he just wanted to get out from under this creaking mattress and back to C & D.

The bouncing bed picked up speed. For a few nervous seconds, Sinclair feared it might collapse on top of him. Then, with a monster roar, Humboldt announced his triumphant stretch to the finish, accompanied by a peal of pure ecstasy from his twenty-five year old starlet wanna be sex toy. These two made more noise than an alley full of horny cats, David thought sourly, as the amorous activity died down to a whisper. Please tell me you're finally going to sleep, he hissed under his breath, mentally crossing his fingers. He _had_ to get out of here with the evidence contained on the camera in his hands. He'd like very much to do that before sunup. This part of the city wasn't too hospitable to people with his skin tone. To his dismay, Humboldt's girlfriend pulled a script, of all things, from her bedside table and asked her "pookie bear" to help her memorize lines. Of course, the besotted married man agreed. Sinclair glumly feared the pair might never shut their eyes.

"Why" he asked himself, "didn't I let Granger take this one?" His partner had offered but David, itching for a chance to stretch his legs, insisted it was his turn to trail their target.

"Don't worry brother" he remembered saying to Colby. "It'll be eggs in the coffee, you'll see. I'll get what we need and be back here quicker than you could blow two bits at craps. You'll see."

That had been twelve hours ago. He should have heeded the doubtful glint in Granger's eye. While he waited for the producer and his lover to exhaust themselves talking, he remembered back to his first meeting with Colby Granger.

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_1__st__ Lieutenant Colby Granger, United States Army, stood on the sidewalk in front of the Los Angeles county jail. He surveyed the entrance to the facility much the same way he would reconnoiter an enemy position. According to the info contained in the file he'd been given by his commanding officer, the man Lt. Granger needed to talk to was in one of the jails numerous cells. _

_He mounted the two dozen concrete steps quickly, pleased at not being winded after the climb. Not so long ago he would have been. The recovery from his extensive battlefield wounds had taken longer than either he or any of the Army's doctors had thought it would or wanted it to. Even with Colby pushing himself thru physical and occupational therapy in record time. Before he could come back enough to be deemed fit for combat duty, strangers were kissing each other and dancing in the streets on V-J Day. Instead of being returned to his Ranger Battalion , Granger was reassigned to the Criminal Investigation Division, presently under the authority of the Provost Marshal's Office. It wasn't a choice he preferred, but a soldier didn't get to pick his duty, the Army did, and since Colby wanted to stay in the service, he saluted, and yessired and did what he was ordered to do. _

_What he'd been ordered to do today was check out the story of an assault involving a Col. Harold Greeley. The Colonel's attacker, one David Sinclair, had been collared by LAPD's finest and was currently awaiting his turn in front of a judge. Technically, since this Sinclair was a civilian, and the alleged attack had taken place in an alley off Central Avenue, this wasn't the Army's business. But it involved an Army officer, and Colby's own C.O. was, uh, detail oriented to put it mildly. Therefore, here Granger was, tying up loose ends by interviewing said civilian._

"_Excuse me" he said, getting the attention of the desk Sergeant. The man looked up from whatever he was doing, the patronizing look running away from his face at the sight of Granger's uniform. Didn't get an awful lot of Army types in this place._

"_What can I do for you, Lieutenant?" the cop asked in a more respectful tone than he'd intended. Sgt. Bill Cramer had nearly dismissed the young Army officer as some needs his nose wiped flunky until he'd gotten a look at the eyes. Bill recognized that look. Those eyes had been places and seen things._

"_I'm here to interview one of your detainees, a David Sinclair" Granger answered. "He's being held on charges of assault. The alleged victim was a Col. Harold Greeley." _

"_Alleged victim?" Cramer echoed. "If a white army Colonel says he was attacked by some piece of dark meat, then he was. Nothing 'alleged' about it."_

_Not hard to tell where the Sergeant's sentiments lay, Lt. Granger thought. The frost in his green eyes deepened. Colby detested bigots. His opinion, however, bounced right off the bored desk sergeant. _

"_Shannon here will show to you to visiting." Cramer indicated a nearby officer, and promptly returned his attention to his stack of forms and reports. _

_Granger was led to a cinder block walled room painted what he would charitably describe as puke green. A glass partition separated prisoner from visitor and on either side long wooden benches were supplied as seating. Phones mounted on both sides of the glass enabled conversation. _

_Granger waited as his interviewee was retrieved. After about five minutes, the door on the inmate side of the interview room opened and the man Colby had come to talk to was ushered in, none to gently, by a guard._

_A muscular, dark skinned man about the same age as himself, the army officer saw, Sinclair's dark eyes were impassive, betraying nothing of the surprise he must be feeling at the identity of his visitor. He nursed a fat lip and a goog._

_Colby lifted the receiver on his side of the glass, indicating for the other man to do the same. After briefly hesitating, Sinclair complied._

"_The Army recruiting out of the city jail now? You people must be harder up than I thought" Sinclair's New York accent lent bite to his sarcasm. _

"_I'm here looking into the charges brought against you" Colby answered him evenly. "I'd like to find out what happened. Hear your side of it." _

"_Hear my side of it? Yeah, right. What difference does it make? You and I both know I'm gonna catch at least a three spot in stir behind this. What, is the Army just making sure?" David questioned bitterly._

"_The Army would like to investigate the matter thoroughly. That's why they sent me. You want to tell me what happened?" Colby's voice was low pitched and level._

_The jailed man stared at Granger for about ten seconds. "Alright, fine. I'll play along. Not gonna mean anything anyway. I have a, well used to have by now probably, a restaurant on Central Avenue. I'd just locked up for the night, and was on my way home. It was pretty late, so there wasn't anybody else around. I was passing an alley, and I heard what sounded like screams for help, so I went to check it out. I get down the alley and I see some full bird Colonel all over this woman. He had her pinned. One hand was down her blouse and the other up her skirt. She's trying to fight him off and she's not having much luck, so I help her out. I peel Greeley away from her, tell him to back off, that the lady said no. Instead of taking the hint, he tries to paste me. He was so full of giggle water he missed by a mile and fell. While he was laying face down in the alley, I checked on her. She was shook up so I offered to see her home. We walked away, left Greeley laying there mumbling to himself. Got about halfway down the alley and I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned, Greeley tried to hit me again, missed again. I pushed him away, he came back a third time. He grabbed me, wouldn't let go. He shoved me against a brick wall and took another swing. I figured I was gonna have to sit him down so I could go home. I popped him pretty good. Just once, but that's all it took. Next thing I know, a couple of flatfoot's are slapping bracelets on me, Greeley's yelling I tried to rob him. I tried to tell 'em what really happened, but they didn't exactly want to hear it" Sinclair shrugged, pointing to his face._

"_What about this lady?" the Lieutenant consulted his file. "Uh, Nicole Bentancourt. She didn't back you up?"_

"_I told you she was pretty rattled. She took a powder. Copper's showed, she ran the other way." David didn't seem particularly upset that his alibi had deserted him. "Anyway, that's my sad story. I'm going back to my cell now." Sinclair rose. _

"_I'll look her up" Colby promised. "Miss Bentancourt. Once she backs up your story, everything should be jake. You'll be out of here."_

"_You're gonna go find her and get her to come tell what happened? Yeah, okay if you say so." Sinclair sounded a mixture of tired and skeptical. He looked back once at Granger and left the visiting room. _

_On his bunk in his tiny one man cell that evening, David lay staring at the ceiling. He thought angrily back to the visit from Lt. Granger. He didn't like being taken for a palooka. He was headed for the big house. No doubt about it. The Army would protect its own. Sinclair rolled over on his side, trying in vain to find a comfortable position on the thin mattress. He wouldn't be seeing his freedom for a while or Colby Granger ever again. He closed his eyes and put thoughts of both firmly out of his mind. _

_Denied bail, David's next few days in the hoosegow passed predictably. Lousy food, bulls that considered their nightsticks and their manhood as the same thing and sheer mind crushing boredom. He'd passed on the cold lumpy oatmeal, limp bacon and cardboard toast that masqueraded as breakfast and was considering another round of pushups, when he heard his name called. He turned to see one of his chief uniformed tormentors._

" _Lawd a mighty, Freedom done come" the guard smirked, terribly impressed by his own cleverness. You're gone. You're a free man. Let's go." David's cell door swung open. _

"_What do you mean I'm a free man? Judge said no bail. What's going on?" David stepped out, confused and suspicious. _

"_Only thing I know" the guard responded, "is a witness came forward, spoke up for ya. Some girlie. After that, I don't know from nothin'. You can pick up your belongings at the property window. Now beat it."_

_How 'bout that? Sinclair marveled, parking his hat on his head once he reached the street. Granger actually came thru. Tracked down the Bentancourt babe and got her 'fess up to the law on what really happened in the alley. If that didn't take the cake! He set off for his restaurant. If he still had one that is. Fifteen days closed, his cook and all his regulars had probably evaporated by now. At least the apartment he kept above the joint would be waiting for him. He always paid the rent a month in advance. The thought of laying his head on his own pillow made him walk a little faster._

_It took nearly three weeks of hustling, but David managed to get the place back on its feet. That was important. He had to make the restaurant pay until he could get the whole PI thing off the ground. It was either that or crawl back to New York with his tail between his legs. He'd rather be on the nut and crashing in some flophouse than give his brother-in-law that satisfaction. His sister's husband was a lot of the reason Sinclair had come west after graduating Cornell in the first place._

_Putting another long day in the books, he locked up for the night and was headed for home when he passed the Egypt Club. Looking thru the large plate glass window, he spotted a familiar face and decided to go in. _

"_Drinking alone, late at night? Don't think the Army would approve" he started out. _

"_Yeah, well, they fired me, so they can go jump" Colby Granger, late of the United States Army returned. Loosening the tie another notch on his disheveled uniform shirt, he burped softly. _

_That brought Sinclair up short. "You got booted?" _

" _Gave me my walking papers today. Guess even a jingle brained, boozehound would be rapist can have friends" Granger answered, flagging down the bartender. "Hey, barkeep, fill me up again." He gestured to his empty glass. Once he had his refill, Colby continued. "They let me keep my honorable, but I was strongly encouraged to explore 'other career options.' Downing the shot of scotch in one gulp, he signaled for another._

"_You might want to think about slowing down a little bit" David advised, watching the young ex-soldier throw back his latest. "You look kinda out on the roof already, you know."_

"_Oh, I'm just getting started. Matter of fact, I think I'm might just leave off with this piss ant one at a time crap and go find myself a bottle. Maybe two." Granger slid off the bar stool, nearly fell, caught himself and stood listing unsteadily. Throwing a pair of five spots on the bar, he headed, swaying, in the general direction of the street._

_Sinclair followed. Somebody had to make sure the guy didn't wander into traffic and get himself run down. David figured he could stick with the former Army lieutenant long enough to make sure that didn't happen. Besides, he kind of felt like he owed Granger. He'd been looking at a sure fire stretch in the house of many doors had it not been for the timely intervention of the inebriated man ahead of him._

_Trailing about half a block behind, David watched amused as Colby Granger wove a drunken path to no place in particular. He kept his distance, allowing the other man to go his own way until fate took a hand in the form of an opportunistic "professional." _

_Sidling up to Granger with a mercenary look in her eyes, the lady's hands busily explored his body in a very deliberate manner. _

"_Hey, sugar. You look lonely. Why don't you let Gina show ya a little hospitality?" While making her sales pitch, Gina sinuously glued herself to Colby, hands wandering the good looking young man's body calculatingly. Her ruby red lips kissed, giving promise of things to come. Otherwise occupied, Colby's befuddled senses failed to detect Gina's left hand as it slid into his right pants pocket. She had the clip holding his remaining cash out of his pocket and halfway to her brassiere when a viselike grip closed around her wrist. _

"_Ok, sister. Give it up! Now!" David ordered. _

_Gina, realizing she'd been caught in the act, briefly considering screaming for help but changed her mind after a good look at the angry man confronting her._

"_I said give the man back his money and scram out!" Sinclair growled. _

"_Alright! Alright! Ya ain't gotta get all wound up about it!" Gina screeched, wrenching her hand free. _

_David grabbed the money clip and gave her a minor shove backwards. "Take off! Now! Beat it!"_

"_Okay! Okay! I'm goin'!" Gina sauntered off, glaring resentfully._

"_Hey!" Colby's alcohol soaked brain finally reacted. "What'd ya go and do that for?!" he complained to Sinclair. "Do you know how long it's been since I---"_

"_No" David interrupted. "And I don't want to. Come on, let's get out of here before you get yourself dry gulched."_

"_I, I don't, (hic) I don't need a babyshl…, a babysl…l, I can(hic) take care of(hic) myself" Granger protested. _

"_I can see that" David answered. "What you need is a place to sleep it off. How long were you drinking before I got there? I can't believe three or four scotches did this to you."_

"_I had a couple of beers first" Colby supplied, holding up five fingers._

"_Oh, I see. Come on, let's go before anymore Gina's show up. Or worse!" David steered his unsteady charge away from the area. _

"_Wh—where're we going?" Granger wobbled. _

"_Let me worry about that. This way" _

_The pair finally reached David's walkup(the stairs proved quite a challenge). Colby made it a far as the comfortable couch before passing out. _

_Shaking his head, Sinclair tugged off Granger's shoes. " Enjoy the sleep cause you are gonna be one sorry sap in the morning, my friend. Good night" he told his unconscious houseguest, and went to bed. _

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"_Uuuggghhh!!!" Colby forced one eye open, flinching at the glare of morning sunlight in his face. Barely upright, he began to lean to one side. Saved from toppling over completely by the sofa's arm, he gripped his pounding head in both hands._

_The sound and motion attracted the attention of David Sinclair, laboring over a skillet of fried potatoes, onions and peppers in the apartment's tiny kitchen._

"_Morning" he greeted Colby brightly. "See you finally came around. What do you want for breakfast? Got potatoes on the stove if you like 'em with peppers and onions, or I could throw a couple of hen fruit in there, get some bacon going."_

"_A gun. I need a gun so I can blow my head off" Colby countered, groaning. Please don't mention food he begged silently. His gut didn't feel too good, either. Just the smell alone made him want heave his stomach's pitiful contents into the nearest toilet. _

_Sinclair laughed, not unsympathetically. He was no stranger to mornings after. "How 'bout I bring you something else instead." _

"_If you don't have a gun, can you bring me a nice sharp knife so I can take the top off? Just the top part, that'll do the trick." Colby groaned again, settling back on the couch. He squeezed his eyes shut._

"_I'll be right back" David told him, disappearing from sight._

_Ten minutes later he reappeared in front of Granger, with what appeared to be a glass of tomato juice. "Drink up" he advised. _

_Colby stared at the glass with revulsion. "No, no, I can't. I can't. OOOhhh!"_

"_Take it." David insisted. It'll help, I promise."_

_Eyeing the glass dubiously, Granger accepted it. Not drinking immediately, he eyed it with suspicion. _

"_Go on" his benefactor urged. "It's better if you drink it all down at once, in one big gulp"_

_Manfully, Colby took a huge breath and drank. After swallowing about half, he stopped, sputtering. _

"_What…what…what is this stuff?!" he gasped, coughing and grabbing his throat. "What, are you trying to poison me or somethin'?"_

"_Old family recipe" David told him. "One of the best ways to cure what's ailing you right now that I know of. Get the rest down and then you can catch a shower. Bathroom's that way." He pointed down the hall._

"_Why you bein' so nice to me?" Colby asked, squinting to protect his still light sensitive eyes. Surprisingly, his stomach seemed to be accepting the liquid, even calming down some. His head might take awhile longer._

_Instead of answering, his host accepted the now empty glass and gestured in the direction of the bathroom again._

"_You and I look about the same size. I'll toss a change of clothes in. Shower 'll make a big difference." David took the glass to the sink and went to continue preparing his own breakfast. _

_Colby stared after him for a few seconds, then pushed up off the sofa and shuffled to the bathroom, accepting a couple of towels along the way. _

_Twenty minutes later he stepped out, dressed in the borrowed clothing, toweling off wet hair. His face had lost its dyspeptic cast and his emerald eyes were much clearer. _

"_Better?" David queried._

"_Yeah, loads" Granger conceded. "You never answered my question. Why you doin' all this? I tie one on, you let me flop on your couch, the shower, the clothes, whatever that was in the glass, what gives?"_

"_I gotta have a reason?" Sinclair answered the question with a question. _

_Colby was quiet, waiting. _

"_I owe you" David said eventually. "I figure I'd be on my way to prison right now if it wasn't for you so… call it payback if you want." He shrugged._

"_I guess we're even then. Hey wait" Colby leaned forward, picking the money clip and its contents on the table in front of him. "This looks just like the one I have."_

"_That is the one you have. You were nearly relieved of it last night by a pro skirt, but it's all there."_

"_Thanks, again" Colby said gratefully. " Glad you could save it." Picking up the clip full of money, representing his last Army paycheck, he eyed it ruefully. "Might be a while before I see more of this. I'm sorta out of a job right now. I got a little cabbage put aside, but not enough of it." _

"_You got any idea what you're gonna do about it?"_

"_Not right now I don't. No idea. Not a single one. I am entirely open to suggestion" Granger told him. He noticed David regarding him speculatively. "What? You got something you want to get off your chest. What is it?"_

"_You got no…immediate plans for your future, am I right?" David seemed on the verge of something._

"_Yeah, you hit the nail on the head. What about it?" Colby's curiosity was peaked. _

_David shrugged again."I got a small restaurant downstairs, which l have to get to by the way, open up for the day. But, um, as it happens, I'm also a PI. I've been trying to get that going real good. If I can, I can get out of the restaurant business and get busy doing what I really want to be doing. As it happens, I could use a partner. Somebody who can handle himself, won't panic if we end up behind the eight ball."_

"_And you think that's me? I'd need to get my ticket" Granger hedged, meaning he'd have to obtain a PI license. _

_Sinclair said nothing, seeing that the other man was seriously considering the proposition. _

"_Can I have twenty-four hours to think it over?" Colby asked. _

"_Sure. Take all the time you need. You know where to find me" was the answer._

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Twenty-four hours, three months and one brand spanking new private shamus's license later, C & D Private Investigations was born. David Sinclair and Colby Granger, gumshoes extraordinaire, were in business. They quickly discovered their niche. C & D usually got the clients nobody else would accept. People who were up against it and had nowhere else to go. Or who couldn't pay a lot, but would willingly give up everything they had, desperate for help. Those who had powerful or influential enemies that the cops or other PI's were reluctant to anger.

People like Sally Humboldt, whose movie producer husband Sherman not only controlled a fair portion of the town's entertainment industry, but was pals with many of Los Angeles's top gangsters. Men who didn't hesitate to use choppers to settle disputes. The lady needed help and came to C & D as a last resort. She had to get the goods on her louse of a husband to have any leverage in court.

David, tucked under the bed in the apartment of Humboldt's peroxide blonde girlfriend, was in possession of that proof. Now all he had to do was get back to C & D with it. He listened carefully. Nothing. Dead silence save for the soft snoring of Sherman Humboldt. Spectacular. Sinclair ever so slowly worked his way out from under the hardest working mattress in Hollywood, careful to protect the Brownie Hawkeye camera. About to tiptoe to the door, he noticed a small plastic container on the nightstand. Curious, he checked its contents, grinning hugely once he realized what the container held. So that's how Sherman Humboldt had the juice to keep up with this sweet young thing. This stuff would put lead in any man's pencil, Sinclair chuckled silently. He resisted the urge to snap one more photo. No sense risking awakening the spooning pair. He achieved a soundless exit, and just as the sun began to make an appearance, managed to get back to C & D.

"Well, finally!" Colby exploded in a rush. "Man, where have you been? I been looking all over for ya! I been up and down half the alleys in this town! What took you so long? And how come you didn't check in? Come on, David, you know the rule!"

"If you give me a chance to get a word in, I'll tell you" David answered.

As he'd predicted, Colby's desk pounding, ear splitting belly laughter punctuated his explanation for his lengthy absence. David knew in the coming days, Granger's mercilessly wicked sense of humor would be in abundant supply regarding the incident. He might as well get used to the idea. No way he could wiggle out of it. Maybe he could at least distract his partner momentarily.

"What went on while I was gone? Anything interesting, or did you spend the entire time with your feet propped up listening to Artie Shaw and the Dorsey brothers?"

The broad smile on his face letting Sinclair know Colby wasn't fooled by the tactic, Granger decided give his partner a break.

"Since you asked, we have new client. A Miss Amita Ramanujan. She hired us to find her boyfriend. He's a college professor by the name of Charles Eppes…"

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	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: So guy and dolls, here it is. I got no claim to any part of Numb3rs or any of the Numb3rs characters. I'm saying so cause I ain't lookin' to get rubbed out by the lawyers. Know what I mean?**

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"Charles, missing? No, no, that makes no sense at all. Charles is very devoted to his students and to his work. To think he would just walk away from either is completely illogical. No, no, no." Dr. Larry Fleinhardt , Professor Eppes friend and colleague at the California Institute of Science, (CalSci), tut tutted fretfully.

Colby Granger and David Sinclair, on the CalSci campus trying to pick up a lead to Charlie Eppes's whereabouts, started their search by interviewing his closest friend and colleague. According to Amita Ramanujan, that person was Larry Fleinhardt.

Watching the eccentric Professor move about his cluttered office, dividing his time between two different blackboards and Granger and Sinclair, Colby couldn't help but smile. Fleinhardt was absolutely an odd duck. A brilliant theoretical physicist and cosmologist (Colby had to look that last one up), Larry Fleinhardt seemed to be the definition of an absentminded professor.

"Are you certain he's not attending a conference or on university business elsewhere?" Fleinhardt questioned. The furrows in his brow were deep enough to plant in, Colby observed.

"Dr. Fleinhardt, you're his closest pal. Wouldn't he have told you if he was going to be attending a conference or symposium?" David asked.

"Well" Larry countered, embarrassment very obvious, "It…actually it's possible that he did and I've forgotten. Let me think for a moment." Then he did just that, eyes closed, right hand cupping his chin, forefinger tapping his lips.

"No, no…I'm quite certain Charles said nothing to me regarding any plans to be away, quite certain. Have you spoken to his family?"

"We haven't had a chance to do that yet, Dr. Fleinhardt" Colby answered. "Sir, how much do you know about Professor Eppes personal life?" Maybe the quirky scientist could shed some light on the missing man's possible movements.

"Charles is a very private person. He doesn't speak much about his life away from CalSci. Although, in recent months, his behavior has altered somewhat. I believe there may be a young lady involved. If so, I've never met her and don't even know her name, but it is a distinct possibility. I'm sure there must be some very simple explanation. I'm positive Charles would never simply abandon his responsibilities." He stopped speaking, the unfocused look in his eyes growing. Picking up a piece of chalk, he returned his attention to the two separate formulas he'd been scribbling at when Sinclair and Granger had arrived. Ultimately throwing up his hands and then steepling his fingers, he turned to David and Colby with an exasperated sigh. Helplessly, he asked, "Do either of you young gentlemen remember which of these equations I was working on?"

Granger chose at random. "Uh, I think the one on the left, Doc."

"Really?!" Fleinhardt appeared even more confused. "Hmmm." Larry stared hard at the indicated board.

The two PI's left completely unnoticed.

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Borrowing Charles Eppes spare office key from Larry Fleinhardt, C & D's next stop was the missing professor's own private CalSci space. Leafing thru the stacks of student papers and lesson plans amid the indecipherable equations on Eppes's own cluster of chalk filled blackboards, Colby commented to David.

"Dr. Fleinhardt, he's, uh, some kinda case for the head doctors, huh?"

"Yeah, he's different alright. Why do I get the feeling, though, that he fits in around here just fine?" Sinclair answered.

Colby nodded. Both he and David had taken a liking to the flaky little man.

The office they were in now was as overrun with papers and belongings as the one they'd just left. Surveying the mess, Granger hoped Charlie Eppes was a heck of a mathematician. It took him and David almost ten minutes of pawing thru the prof's written world to merely scratch the surface. Work submitted from the students in Eppes's classes, (by some of the comments scribbled in the margins, Colby could tell a few of Dr. Eppes students might be repeating the course) mingled with proposals from co-workers and official notices from the head of the mathematics department. The two searchers worked in silence, chipping away at the paper mountain.

Suddenly, David Sinclair inhaled sharply. He stood, holding an eight by ten photo in his hand. Looking at Granger he asked "are we being used for a couple of patsy's here?" He handed the picture over.

"What do you mean?" Colby accepted it. He studied it, understanding once he saw, what had provoked the other's reaction.

Amita Ramanujan 's description of Charles Eppes made it easy to pick him out of the photograph. A head full of dark, curly hair topped a friendly open face. Dark eyes, a strong nose and a mouth that looked like it did a fair amount of smiling rounded out the description. Obviously taken some years past, this Charlie Eppes was too young to be a college professor. In fact, he looked to be a teenager. An undergrad photo then. Colby could see enough of the background to deduce the location. Princeton University. Professor Eppes was in the center, with a blonde woman to his left and a man to his right. All three were smiling, but Eppes looked a little uncomfortable. It was an ordinary enough picture except for one thing. That thing was what had brought the angry look into David's eyes, he knew. It made Colby's eyes narrow too. Hanging above the heads of the trio, a banner printed in bold lettering proclaimed proudly **COMMUNIST PARTY OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. **Hold the phone. This didn't just change a lot, it might just change everything.

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"_But Pop, Why a fireman? Why do you want to be a fireman so bad?" Eleven year old David Sinclair asked his father, confused. David wanted very much to understand his father's passion. He wanted to understand why his father would be willing to endure the incredible hardship that would come with becoming one of only a handful of Negro firemen hired by the city of New York._

_His father explained, "because it's a profession of honor, son. A job a man can hold his head up about. It's been a dream of mine since I was your age. I know it'll be rough. I know most of the white ones won't want me there. Some of 'em will do whatever they think they have to do to keep me out. But it won't work. I'm comin', and there ain't nothin' they can do to stop it." David saw the quiet determination burning in his father's eyes, and his pre-adolescent chest swelled with pride._

_Facing hellish odds, the elder Sinclair dealt with every obstacle on the path to his ambition with that same whisper soft resolve. Racism, intimidation tactics, threats, exaggerated requirements, highbinder officials, and even pleas from his frightened wife failed to sway him. Eventually it appeared nothing stood between David's father and his being allowed to don the uniform of a New York City firefighter._

_Then the communists started coming around. They wanted to organize the workers in the factory where David's dad worked while he waited to be hired by the city. The party members recognized David's dad as a leader among the labor force and courted his support. Mistrustful of their motives and disagreeing with their politics, he wanted nothing to do with them. He also recognized the danger they represented to his goal of becoming a fireman. Unfortunately, the harder he tried to distance himself, the more persistent they became. Their pursuit of his endorsement didn't go unnoticed. Not by his fellow Negro workers, by the owners of the factory, or by the union busting, anti-communist thugs hired to break up the budding labor movement. By the time a series of bloody street confrontations resulted in ten dead, fifteen wounded, thirteen factory workers, including Sinclair being jailed, and the Party member's banishment from the scene, the damage was done. David's father saw his bid to become a fireman, on delicate ground as it was, ultimately rejected. He blamed the communists. So did David. The boy felt his father never recovered from the blow. When Malcolm Sinclair was killed six years later, after the roof of a burning warehouse collapsed on him as he was trying to rescue a trapped friend, David knew his father's thwarted dream lay at least partially behind the death. He never forgave the communist union organizers for their role. _

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From that time on, David Sinclair had no use for Communists. They could all jump in the Atlantic and drown trying to swim to their Russian "worker's paradise" as far as he was concerned.

And here was Professor Charles Eppes, the man C & D's lovely client was so frantic to locate, practically drinking out of the same bottle with the reds. At least it looked that way.

"What do you think?" he asked his partner, still struggling to control his anger.

"I think I didn't almost get myself killed fighting Nazi's to come home and help out the Commie's" Colby answered. After another moment he continued. "I also think there might be an explanation for this picture, and maybe we ought to hear it before we jump to any conclusions. Besides, Eppes ain't our client, remember?"

David nodded, conceding the point. "Yeah, you're right, he's not. I think we need to have another talk with Miss Ramanujan."

"Um hum" Colby locked eyes with the "D" half of the team. "It do appear there are a few details she might have left out. I don't think we're gonna get anything else here anyways." They left, Granger digging out the keys to his green Ford Deluxe.

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Amita Ramanujan lived in a fading part of L.A. Still with a measure of character and class, its residents were a mixture of families, single and couples apartment dwellers and small one owner businesses. It clung tenaciously to its dignity while enduring the slow slide into one of the seedier parts of the city.

Colby and David pulled up to the building where she kept an apartment, taking a gander before getting out of the car. It didn't look like the type of neighborhood where a man could end up with a roscoe in the face, but neither was in the mood for surprises, so they were careful.

Granger opened the door and had one foot on the bricks when he and David witnessed the beautiful woman who'd hired them coming out of her building unexpectedly. She wasn't alone. A pair of goons accompanied her, showing her what looked like an awkward kind of respect. One of 'em actually opened the back door of the Cadillac parked in front, closing it behind her like he was some swell's chauffer. Mystified, Sinclair and Colby followed as the big car took off.

Fifteen minutes driving found the PI's parked a block away, watching as the gleaming black automobile pulled into a private garage. Once more affording the lady the same peculiar respect Colby was pretty sure these galoots had never shown before to a dame in their lives, one of them extended a hand, assisting Amita out of the back seat. The Ramanujan woman and her unlikely escort crossed the street to their destination.

Cruising slowly past where the woman and two men entered in, Colby swore softly, while David's clenched jaw and grim expression spoke for him. What had they gotten into when he accepted this case, the young former army lieutenant wondered? Amita Ramanujan and the two thugs with her had gone thru the front entrance of the _**Sterling Room**_, a ritzy nightspot owned by Lou Morelli, a stone killer and the most powerful mobster in California.

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Every time Amita stepped thru the door of Lou Morelli's office, she wondered if it might be the last time she was seen alive by anyone other than Lou or his henchmen. If she might not end up getting taken for a ride because her usefulness to the gangster had finally come to an end. For her sake, but more importantly, that of her parents, she held on, trying not to dwell on the precariousness of her position in the Morelli organization.

The _**Sterling Room**_ had needed a singer and Amita, the Los Angeles born and raised daughter of Indian immigrant parents needed a job to earn money for graduate school. Peddling her fabulous pipes and exotic beauty, she'd wandered into the _**Sterling **_not knowing the pedigree of its proprietor, and become trapped like a fly in a spider's web.

She'd thought her worst problem was fending off Lou's unwanted advances. Until the night she met Charlie Eppes. Recently hired as the youngest professor of mathematics at the California Institute of Science, (CalSci, he'd informed her shyly) Charlie was lonely, adorable and ripe for the plucking.

Morelli discoved Charles Eppes government connections , and the ruthless gangster pounced. Ordering his torch singer to cozy up to the vulnerable, relationship innocent professor, Lou Morelli intended to exploit the liaison in as many ways possible. Once he'd wrung the sucker dry, Amita's fear was that she and Charlie would both get the long good night. Afraid for not only herself and the man she had fallen in love with, Amita also trembled for the fate of her parents, held captive by Morelli to ensure her compliance.

Charlie's disappearance had enraged the mobster and worried the lovely singer for many reasons. Her desperation to find him led her to the door of C & D Private Investigations. The two PI's had to find Charlie. They just had to. And soon. She wasn't sure how long Morelli's patience was, but she knew it was running out.

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"Knuckles" Lamone, frowned, chomping down on the stub of his well chewed cigar. With nothing else to do until they got further orders from Lou, four of Morelli's bone breakers passed the time cheating each other at poker. Knuckles was a Brooklyn transplant. He'd called it quits with school at around the 6th grade. About the only book he'd bothered to crack in his brief academic career said something about young men headin' West. He thought that sounded good, so, he had. Eventually, he'd wound up working for Lou Morelli. He wasn't allowed to light his rope in the club. He wanted to, so bad he could almost smell the smoke. He liked this type of stogies. He thought they was easy to get and economicable. But no, the boss said they stank up the joint and the songbird insisted they irritated her throat. Knuckles eyed his dwindling pile of cash and pouted. The game was suddenly interrupted.

"Wheeehoo!" the drunk hurtled into the nearly deserted nightclub, careening into one of the white linen covered tables full force, knocking its high quality crystal stemware and silver place settings askew.

"I telled Junior this here place was the cat's meow and we oughta git ourselves a eyeful afore's we go back home! I telled him, but (hic) he was 'fraid to come in and take hisself a look see! He gon' be powerful (hic) sorry he missed (hic) his chance, yessiree bob! HIC!" The unsteady fellow grinned crookedly, giving the surprised foursome a liquor exaggerated wink, as if letting them in on the joke. He fell into another table, upsetting it as well.

"We ain't open. Get outta here! Go on, beat it!" Knuckles rumbled irritably, getting to his feet. He prepared to toss the lush back out on to the street before the whole club got destroyed. His calloused fists, the last thing many of his victims saw before lights out, backed him up.

"Come on, plur, poup, po', (hic) give a thirsty fella some (hic) relief, why doncha!?" The soused gatecrasher bellowed, pounding the top of the table, from the looks of him, the only thing holding him upright. Spying an advertisement of the _**Sterling Room**_'s attractions, he became even more animated.

"Hey, is that pretty little (hic) filly there a gonna be singin'? Cause I'd purely admire to hear that, (hic) I'll be tellin' ya! I surely would! Trot 'er on out and let's git a tune goin' right now!" the loud, unwelcome visitor demanded, whacking the table again.

"I said go climb up your thumb, hayseed!" Knuckles punctuated his statement by grabbing a handful of the drunk's collar and jacket in one hand and a chunk of belt and pants in the other. Hefting the irritant towards the front door, he heaved the man out of the club with one thrust of his massive muscles. To drive his point home, he gave the object of his wrath a kick to the ribs as the man lay dazed on the concrete.

Howling in outraged pain, the would-be patron balanced shakily on hands and knees, watching the hefty goon's retreat to the building's interior. Once alone, however, the man's impaired state miraculously dissolved. He got to his feet with athletic grace. Without a trace of his prior fumbling around, he made his way to the alley behind the nightclub to his parked car. One hand did a quick check of his abused rib cage.

About the same time, David Sinclair returned from his own foray to the _**Sterling'**_s backrooms. He slammed the cracked trunk lid shut and tossed the crow bar he'd extracted from it and used to pry open the storeroom's door into the automobile's backseat. With Morelli and his goons involved, he might need to get to it quick.

"So, what's the dope on Ramanujan?" he asked.

"Would ya believe she's the canary?" Colby answered, wry twist to his mouth. He started the car and put it in gear.

Inside the club, the commotion had attracted the attention of none other than Lou Morelli himself.

"What's goin' on out here!? I 'm in the middle of something! I expect you to keep it quiet!" he thundered. Behind him, Amita Ramanujan, looking distressed, sat shaking.

"Nothin' boss" Knuckles responded hastily. "Just some drunken bum. I took care of it! He ain't gonna be back."

"He better not be" Morelli responded, his voice dripping with ominous promise all around should Knuckles be wrong. Going back into his office he slammed the door.

The four thugs traded an uneasy glance and resumed their game, Knuckles still losing.

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Granger's Deluxe hummed to a stop on the quiet street where Professor Charles Eppes lived with his widowed, semi-retired city planner father Alan. The ride over had been silent as a church. Their client, Amita Ramanujan worked for Lou Morelli. C & D was jammed up. Until they could figure a way out, they'd keep working the case, trying to think of an angle that could give them the bulge on the powerful mob man.

"You think all she does for Morelli is sing?" Sinclair asked his partner as they looked over the house, making sure no one was home and considering the easiest way in.

Colby shrugged. "Who knows? I mean she acted real concerned for the Professor, like she was genuinely worried or something. It could have been a put on, but if it was, she oughta be in Hollywood, making pictures." He nodded for David to follow him around to the home's more secluded rear. The back door of the Craftsman style home proved to be but a slight impediment, and the two were soon inside.

"You take upstairs, I'll look around down here" David suggested. Granger indicated his agreement and started up the carved stairs. The missing Charles Eppes had to have left a clue to his whereabouts somewhere.

If anything, Colby was thinking fifteen minutes later, the office the professor kept in his home was more disheveled than the one at CalSci. Stacks of student work, past and present, plus more of the mathematics genius's own theories and calculations were everywhere. The doc's university office must have been the despair of the cleaning staff. Colby doubted Eppess and his father had a housekeeper. Any self respecting cleaning woman would have taken one look at this chaos and run screaming into the night, never to return.

The PHD's desk yielded an interesting fact, albeit one Granger wasn't sure what to make of yet. A manila folder lay at the bottom of a drawer that should have been locked but was not. Inside the folder were schematics for some kind of elaborate security system. Hand scribbled calculations crowded in and around the designs made it difficult to know what the blueprints were for. Whatever it was, there were a lot of them. The file was nearly an inch thick. Leafing thru the documents, Colby found some of the pages bore a U.S. government seal. The professor was involved with the government? That didn't go with the photo he and David had seen earlier. This case was getting crazier by the second. Maybe C & D oughta fade before they ended up get blipped off. Nah, he let the thought die a quick death. They'd taken the case now they had to see it thru to the finish. He replaced the file and went on to one of the bedrooms. Nothin' doin' there or in the other one either. Maybe David was having better luck. He started back downstairs.

"Not much up here to go on, although I did find something interesting. I'm not sure what it means yet but it could help." Colby listened for Sinclair's reply but heard nothing. The house wasn't that big, he knew David heard him, why didn't he say anything?

"David, did you hear what I said? Hey man, where are you? You still here?"

He reached the end of the hallway and started down the steps, curious at his partner's non responsiveness. Halfway down, he stopped, finally understanding Sinclair's silence.

An angry looking dark haired man motioned him down the rest of the way with a gun. Granger moved slowly. Whoever the mystery man was, he knew how to handle a heater. The firearm didn't waver.

At the bottom of the stairs, the gunman grabbed Colby by the scruff of his jacket, slamming him face first against the wall, rattling pictures.

"Sorry, they were on me before I could warn you" David Sinclair apologized. A second armed man had David spread eagled on the floor, the man's foot pinning Sinclair's head to the rug covered wooden floor.

"Did I say you could talk?" David's captor snarled, pressing down slightly. David grunted in pain.

Colby felt the gun in his back shift to his ear.

"Who are you? The dark haired man hissed. "Where's my brother? What are you two doing in his house?"

What?! The professor had a brother? Ramanujan hadn't mentioned a brother, just a father.

Granger's attempt to turn his head to answer displeased his questioner. With a forearm the man banged Colby's face into the plaster. Seeing stars, the PI could taste the salty tang of his own blood.

"Don't make me ask you again!" The gun cocked.

"I'm trying to answer you!" Colby rasped thru clenched teeth. "Me and my partner, we're private investigators. We don't know where your brother is! We were hired to find him! I got, aaauuggh!" he winced as his arm was twisted, "I got ID in my pocket!"

Throwing him to the floor beside Sinclair, his attacker indicated for the second man to move back slightly and cover both intruders. Bending over Colby, the man claiming to be Charles Eppes's brother proceeded to go thru the investigator's pockets until he located Granger's wallet.

"Hired, by who?! By who?!" the Eppes brother demanded.

"By your brother's girlfriend" David answered instead of Colby. "Amita Ramanujan. She hired us to find him. She's worried, hasn't seen or heard from him in a few days!"

"You're lying! Charlie doesn't have a girlfriend. He's too wrapped up in his math and theories and teaching to get involved with anyone!"

Swell, Granger thought. This belligerent and furious man didn't believe them.

"It's the truth! We ain't stringin' you along. We're just doing the job we were hired for, trying to find your brother. His lady friend, she's a singer in a club!" Colby didn't think it would be a good idea to mention which one with the business end of a gun staring him in the face.

"So you're gonna keep lying to me, huh?! We'll see how long that lasts. Get up, both of you!" the professor's brother ordered, stepping back far enough to allow Colby and David to get to their feet.

"Where to, Don, back to headquarters?" Eppes's backup asked.

"Yeah, Coop, we're taking 'em in. Let's see if they still want to keep playing this little game once we get a chance to grill 'em good." Don Eppes smiled coldly, extracting a pair of handcuffs from his belt.

As he pulled back his coat, Colby could see a gold badge clipped to the man's belt. On it were the words **Federal Bureau of Investigation**. Granger groaned under his breath.

First their client is in the employ of the state's most notorious gangster, then the prof might be a commie, and now his older brother, his _really _angry, suspicious, worried older brother turns out to be a G-man. Next time a good looking broad walked thru the door of C & D, Colby was gonna toss her out on her keister.

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No matter how he turned his head, the blinding lights of the interrogation room followed Colby Granger's eyes like blowflies on a stiff. He'd always supposed the buzzers "sweating" a confession under hot lights was something the movies made up. Wrong again. Six hours of unrelenting pressure by FBI Special Agent Don Eppes had shown Colby he could be wrong about a lot of things. Little things like being not guilty of doing anything criminal actually making a difference. Especially when the person demanding answers was the brother of the guy you were hired to find. And that brother was a federal flatfoot to whom you were a total stranger. A total stranger that federal flatfoot had caught rummaging thru said brother's house. After you'd broken in. Yep, Granger could see how all that might add up badly for him and David.

Colby guiltily considered his partner's predicament. David was trapped in another interrogation room, experiencing the tender mercies of Agent William Cooper. Periodically, Granger could hear shouting and banging coming from next door. It was his fault Sinclair was in the soup. He should have given Amita Ramanujan back her century note and told her to beat it. Pretty little kitten like that, he shoulda known she was trouble.

Don Eppes hammering the table with the flat of his hand brought Colby's attention back to the present.

"You've been sticking to the same lame story since I laid eyes on you! When are you going to start telling me the truth?! Huh! When?! I'm going to find my brother and I know you can help me do that! This weak line about being hired by some non- existent lady friend of his wore itself out hours ago! Shackled to a chair, Colby could only flinch as the FBI agent put a foot in his subject's chest and pushed the chair over backward. Colby's head hit the concrete floor.

"Ow! Ah!" the PI yelped painfully, the air knocked out of him. Eppes wasn't finished. Getting down to Colby's level, the agent leaned on Granger's chest with a knee.

"You know we checked on this Ramanujan woman. She works for Lou Morelli! You expect me to believe my brother would be involved with a woman who works for that gangster! Charlie wouldn't even know where the _**Sterling Room**_ is! I know you and your buddy in there are trying to shine me on and I'm sure you got some kind of connection to Morelli! You better start being straight with me!"

"We… are…. being… straight… with you! Have been… all along!" Colby insisted angrily, fighting to breathe. The combination of hitting the floor and having one hundred fifty pounds resting on his lungs compounded the problem. "We're just private investigators hired to do a job! We got no ties with Lou Morelli. David and I, we only just found out Ramanujan sings in his club! We only went to the house looking for a lead! That's it, that's all there is! I can't tell ya anymore 'cause there's nothing else to tell!"

The door to the interrogation room opened before Don Eppes could react to the statement. Cooper motioned Don out into the corridor. Waiting with Cooper were David Sinclair, looking somewhat the worse for wear, and a man Don Eppes loathed on sight. Otto Ramsey, Lou Morelli's star mouthpiece.

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At a hundred dollars an hour, Otto Ramsey was one of the most expensive attorney's Morelli dirty money could buy. Unfortunately for the Los Angeles Police department and the FBI, he was also effective. Despite their best efforts, neither law enforcement agency was ever able to pin anything concrete on the mobster. Every time charges were brought against him, Ramsey's legal expertise would have Morelli walking out of custody, sneering at the cops, Cuban cigar clenched in his teeth. Of course, the newsies were always there to record the law's latest humiliation.

"Gentlemen" Ramsey oily voice was laced with condescension. "This inappropriate badgering of my clients is at an end. You've kept them here for hours, illegally, I might add, against their will. You've yet to charge them with anything. You've spent hours brutally browbeating them. They've done nothing wrong. Committed no crime. I've made arrangements for their release. Effective immediately. I want Mr. Granger unchained from that chair so that he can accompany myself and Mr. Sinclair" Ramsey indicated David with a nod of his head. The lawyer withdrew papers from his briefcase, pushing them into Don's face with a flourish.

Yanking the pages out of Ramsey's manicured hand, Don saw a writ for the release of both Granger and Sinclair. He couldn't let that happen! No way were these two walking out of here, pricey shyster or not. It wasn't happening! They were the best clue he'd had to Charlie's whereabouts in almost a week. They had to know something and he believed they were on Morelli's payroll. They wouldn't be the first private dicks to do work on the side for some criminal scum. They had to be lying about the woman. He and Charlie had a sometimes prickly relationship. His brother didn't always tell him everything, but if Charlie had a girlfriend, a torch singer in a nightclub, Don told himself he'd have known about it. _Wouldn't he?_ The two men he and Billy had spent the last few hours trying to yank the truth out of had to know something! And he was close to it! He had to be! He didn't have anything else to go on, and their dad, Alan was frantic to find his youngest son! So was Don. He and Charlie might have their differences, but he loved his little brother. If anything had happened to him… He couldn't just let these two walk out! Ramsey was the proof that they were working for Morelli, no matter how much both denied it! He couldn't just let them go! He crumpled the writ in his fist.

"They're not going anywhere!" He yelled in Ramsey's face, nose to nose with the barrister.

"I afraid they are, agent!" Ramsey responded, taking two steps backward, with a supercilious expression. "That document you're holding says they are. There's not a thing you can do to prevent it."

Eppes tossed the paper to the floor. "You think I care about some piece of paper from one of Morelli's pet judges …" He didn't get the chance to go on. William Cooper interposed himself between Don and Ramsey.

"Don, we don't have a choice, partner! We gotta spring 'em, at least for now! We _don't have a choice!" _he physically backed the other agent away from Otto Ramsey until Don's back was touching the opposite wall of the hallway. "I know you want to find Charlie. I want to find him too, but getting on the wrong side of a judge ain't the way to do it, pal! Come on, trust me! I've never steered you wrong before have I? We'll find Charlie! He's gonna be okay when we do, but right now we have to let 'em go. Trust me, Okay!?" Cooper knew how to handle his explosive partner. How to calm him down.

Don hung his head, chest heaving, trying to get control of himself. He knew Coop was right but… "Yeah, it just…I…they… never mind. Taking a key from his pocket, he freed Colby Granger's hands and feet.

Climbing stiffly to his feet, Colby gave the federal agent a look that was part hostility and part challenge.

"We're telling you the truth. David and I are just trying to find your brother, and we don't work for Lou Morelli. That's the straight dope!"

"Yeah, sure it is!" Don replied sarcastically. "That's why Morelli's number one shark just swam up and chewed thru your restraints! Get outta my sight before I forget myself! Go on, scram, both of you! I'll be seeing you again soon enough!" He turned his back.

Colby waved his hand in Eppes direction with disgust. Stupid fed. He looked to David.

"You alright?" He noted the bruises Sinclair now sported. He supposed he didn't look much better. And his chest was sore.

"I'll live. I've been hit harder by my sister" he told Colby, casting a contemptuous glance at William Cooper.

"Ummhumm" Ramsey cleared his throat, getting their attention. "Gentlemen, Please, come with me. We can collect your belongings and be on our way."

The man's toothy smile reminded Colby of a satisfied crocodile.

"Not so fast." David spoke up. "We're not your clients. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad we can go, but we didn't hire you. Why should we go anywhere with you? 'Specially seeing as how your real client is somebody we'd rather avoid"

"Please, Mr. Sinclair, Mr. Granger. I assure you all your questions will be answered in very short order. But for now, we really should go. Please, follow me." Ramsey was quietly insistent.

"Let's get out of here! We can sort it all out later" Granger said. They claimed their valuables and were soon standing on the stone steps leading to and from the federal building. At its base, on the street, sat the same long, black Cadillac Amita Ramanujan had ridden in earlier. Two of Lou Morelli's thugs stood next to it, one holding the door open.

"Allow me to offer you a ride, gentlemen." Otto Ramsey gestured towards the car's interior.

"I don't imagine we have a choice" Colby answered, eyeing Morelli's killers warily.

Ramsey's crocodile grin only expanded. He said nothing more, indicating the car once more.

With a shrug Granger and Sinclair climbed in, followed by Ramsey and Morelli's men. The car zoomed off.

Don Eppes and William Cooper came out of the building in time to witness Colby and David's departure. Colby turned as the limo pulled away, looking out of the car's rear window. He saw Don Eppes malevolent glare following them. It wasn't over with the feds. Not by a long shot.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Youse mugs already knows what I'm gonna say, but here it is anyway. I got none of the action with Numb3rs or any of the Numb3rs characters. Original characters, shady or otherwise, are mine.**

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Rumor had it that Lou Morelli'd sold his widowed mother down the river. The accusation, while technically true, was inaccurate. What he'd done was take advantage of a business opportunity. It so happened that the house his mother had moved into as a nineteen year old bride, along with twenty other homes, sat on land that turned out to be worth a nice chunk of dough. A developer wanted to build a new hotel on the land, and was irked to find a neighborhood in his way. The developer went to his pal, Morelli. Lou picked up his phone and called one of several city councilmen on his payroll. A little rhino changed hands…and easy as duck soup, eminent domain got declared. Presto! No more neighborhood. The developer got his hotel, the councilman got press for his reelection campaign, and Lou got nice kickbacks from the contractors. Families got to be homeless, and Mama Morelli got the Daisy Fields Retirement Home, but Lou figured the old bat shouldn't complain. It was a nice enough place to die in. It better be. He was paying enough. He stuck her in there and promptly forgot about her.

Colby Granger didn't know about old Mrs. Morelli. Not that he could have done anything about it if he did. Especially since right at the moment, there were more pressing concerns to be addressed. Like the heater one of Lou's pachyderm sized goons had glued to Granger's forehead. Dead center. The gun was in the thug's right hand. The left hand's kielbasa thick fingers were wrapped around Colby's throat, half choking off his oxygen supply.

His partner had a different problem. With all of the club owner's malignant attention directed at him, Sinclair felt like a cockroach caught in the open when the lights flicker on. At least the roach had the option of scurrying for the shadows. David was pinned to his chair, held down by more of Lou Morelli's muscle. This one had a wicked looking chiv pressing on the tender skin underneath one of Sinclair's eyes. The tree trunk arm wrapped around his neck forced him to meet his host's gaze.

"I wanna make certain there ain't no…misunderstandings" Lou stated genially, as if discussing a sunny day. "Miss Ramanujan hired you 'cause I said to. I know you got other cases, but as of this moment the only one you gotta to worry about is the Professor." Morelli paused. "I want him found, today. I want Professor Charles Eppes standing right there" the gangster pointed to the spot next to Sinclair, "in twenty four hours or less." Morelli's evil smile put David in mind of a python he'd seen at the Bronx Zoo as a child. "You two has that long to put your mitts on 'im. If I ain't lookin' at 'im by this time tomorrow, you're both gonna be wearin' Chicago overcoats. Which means it would be a lousy idea for you to get yourselves rousted by the FBI again. You ain't got the time. Now, get outta here and go find me my professor." He motioned to his men, who released Granger and Sinclair, treating the private investigators to a rough exit from the _**Sterling Room **_via the alley.

Colby and David picked themselves up, brushing off the alley's debris. "You alright?" Granger asked hoarsely, massaging his tender throat.

"I still got both my eyes" Sinclair answered. "I'm hittin' on all eight. Come let's get back to Eppes's house, pick up your car."

Only then did Colby remember his vehicle had been sitting abandoned in front of the missing math professor's home all night. He looked up to see the beginnings of another L.A. morning just making an appearance in the pastel sky.

"Sorry I got you into this" he apologized. If he hadn't accepted this case…

"Colby, you apologize one more time, I'm gonna sock ya. How many times I gotta say it? You didn't do anything wrong. I would've taken this case myself if Ramanujuan had talked to me instead of you. Now, can we go pick up the car? Please?"

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The Deluxe, which attracted quite a few stares from curious neighbors, sat right where Granger deposited it the previous afternoon, patiently waiting for its owner to reclaim it.

Alan Eppes, returning from another anxiety filled visit to FBI Headquarters (he'd remain unaware, but he'd barely missed Colby Granger and David Sinclair being driven away in Morelli's caddy), noticed the car on his return home. He'd thought it strange that the unfamiliar auto remained in front of his house (Charlie's house) all night but there were other things to consider. Alan had been to every place and talked to everyone he could think of that might have a hint of Charlie's whereabouts. Nothing. It was as if his genius younger son simply vanished into thin air. He knew harassing Donnie wasn't helping, but Alan was nearly out of his mind with worry. Bad enough Don chose such a risky profession. Charlie was supposed to be the safe one, inhabiting his world of numbers and academia. Things like this weren't supposed to happen to college mathematics professors with brilliant minds. Before Margaret's death, she'd extracted a promise from her grief stricken husband to look after the welfare of both their sons. He meant to keep that promise. His stomach reminded him of how long it had been since he last ate. Heading into the kitchen, Alan missed seeing two men get into the green Ford in front of his house and drive it away. He stared into the shiny new refrigerator his son had insisted on buying and sighed. Charlie, where in the world are you?

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One of the best things about C & D's location was its attached garage. Big enough to accommodate two cars, it already held David's prized Ford coupe. The automobile was a legacy from David's late father. It was also another source of friction between him and his brother-in-law, who coveted the car.

Colby backed the Deluxe in next to the garage's other occupant. Dirty, beat to their socks and battered, he and Sinclair remained in place for a few seconds, both blankly staring at nothing.

"We're gonna have to get out sometime" David said, finally opening the passenger door. Colby followed suit and the two headed for the stairs leading up to the office. They didn't quite make it that far.

"Please! Please, don't go! Please, I'd like to get out now, please!" Frenzied hammering from inside followed the words.

Incredibly, the distraught voice seemed to be emanating from the trunk of Granger's car! Colby's ride was spacious, dependable and well taken care of, but the talking thing was new.

"Please, if you could just let me out! Please?!" the request was accompanied by more banging on the trunk's lid.

Sinclair returned to the car, reaching into the backseat for the crowbar he'd tossed there the day before. Hefting the metal rod, he signaled to Colby that he was ready.

Six months to the day prior, someone had tried and failed to break into Granger's trunk. The attempt resulted in the lock mechanism being ruined. Since the lock was done anyway, Colby simply removed it, leaving a half-dollar sized hole that had yet to be filled with a replacement. Once the trunk was closed, he and David were the only ones who knew how to open it. He gave the trunk a pair of solid hits with the side of his fist in the right place and then applied a good kick to the rear bumper. The lid flew up, revealing a bedraggled curly haired man in his twenties.

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He looked like his picture, with about ten years tossed in.

"Dr. Eppes, I presume" Colby said dryly.

David tossed the crowbar back into the car. Whatever else the trunk's unusual cargo was, a threat he wasn't.

Squinting, arm raised to protect his eyes from the sudden abundance of light, Charlie cleared his throat nervously. "Yes, I…I…I'm Charlie Eppes. Pl…Please, I'd really like to get out now. Please?" Scrunched inside, he was visibly miserable.

"I'd think that'd be a good idea, prof. Why don't you heave on out?" Colby motioned backward with his thumb.

Charlie remained motionless, reddening with embarrassment. "I, I need help" he admitted. "I've been in here since yesterday afternoon. My, …my legs are totally cramped. I, I can't move them" he confessed sheepishly.

Reaching in, Granger offered a hand, accepted somewhat hesitantly by the man he and David had been retained to locate. Between him and Sinclair, they managed to free their surprise guest from the confines of the trunk. Charlie grunted in pain from the movement.

"You crawled in there when Colby and I were parked in back of the _**Sterling**_ yesterday, right?" David asked.

"Yes, I…I'm sorry, but, but…could I have a glass of water?" Charlie shifted his eyes between Granger and Sinclair. Afraid to give his hiding place away, but more afraid of being stuck in the trunk for who knew how much longer, now that he was in the open, he didn't know what to do next. His knees decided to help matters along, buckling without warning. Only David's quick grab kept him off the garage's cement floor.

"Ow! Ow! OWW!! Pins and needles! Pins and needles! Ow! Ow! Ow!" Charlie Eppes yipped as the circulation picked up in his legs and feet.

"You look like you could use something a little stronger than water, Professor" Colby told him. You better sit down before you fall down. Come on, ya got six steps and then you're in the office"

Charlie limped slowly up the half flight of steps behind Colby, David bringing up the rear.

"Here you go" Granger poured a shot of Johnnie Walker Black from the bottle he kept in his desk's bottom drawer, handing it to the shaky CalSci whiz.

Downing it in one gulp, Charlie gasped, sputtering and coughing, grabbing his throat. "I, I, what is that!?" More coughing.

"Um, Professor…" Colby began, "I guess we know when you got in there, but, uh, why were you in there? You don't know either one of us. For all you know, we could be worse than Lou Morelli."

Charlie blanched at the mention of the gangster's name. "No one could be worse than that man" the math professor stated emphatically.

"Yeah, he's king of the low life rats, alright, but that doesn't answer my question." Granger refused to let it go. He gave Charles Eppes a steady stare.

"I had to take my chances" Charlie finally said, exasperated. "I couldn't figure out how to open that thing. It should have been easy. I mean, I have a PHD in mathematics for crying out loud! I didn't mean to get trapped in there! It's just ridiculous! And I, I, I had to get out! I have to get back to Amita. I only left in your car, well, in your trunk so I could check on my father, make sure he's okay, and then I couldn't get out of the stupid trunk anyway, but now I have to get back to the _**Sterling Room**_!"

"Maybe you shouldn't be so eager to see Amita Ramanujan again, doc. She hired us to find you on Lou Morelli's orders. She's working for him in more ways than one" David told him flatly.

Charlie was a genius, all right. "No, no, I know what you're implying, but you're wrong. Amita loves me! Maybe Morelli made her hire you, but she loves me! We love each other. She'd never do anything to hurt me! She'd never betray me to Lou Morelli! Never!" the math professor's eyes shone with belief in his absent sweetheart.

Colby decided to change the subject. He'd never been dizzy for a dame, but he could see signs of it all over Charles Eppes. The man had it bad for Ramanujan. Real bad. No matter what he and David said, it wouldn't make a difference to that.

"Look, Professor…" he started.

"Um, I know we just, uh, well, met, I suppose, but, do you think you could call me Charlie?" the question was a bit forlornly put.

"Sure, Charlie" Colby was having trouble not liking the guy. "Charlie, let's talk about Morelli for a minute. How come he's all hot to get his hands on ya? What does he want from you? I mean, Lou Morelli, he doesn't exactly run with the college crowd, you get me? What'd you do, shtupp his sister?"

Dr. Charles Eppes blushed furiously and suddenly found the floor of C & D Private investigations infinitely compelling. His mouth opened and closed several times. He twitched awkwardly.

"You_ didn't_ shtupp his sister, did you?" David asked with a grin.

"No, no, of course not! I'm not ever sure he _has_ a sister!" Charlie replied indignantly. "It's …I…I… oh, shoot! Since you have to know, he wants me to help him rob the Federal Reserve Bank!" Eppes finally blurted.

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The incredible statement hovered in the air for maybe thirty seconds.

"I, I'm sorry, but, but did you say…did you say Morelli wants you to help him take off the Fed? Seriously? He wants you to figure out how to break into the Federal Reserve Bank?" David was incredulous.

"You heard me correctly" Charlie told him. "That's what I said. He wants it done and won't take no for an answer."

"Professor, the Fed Bank's gotta to be one of the most secure locations in this country outside of D.C.! It's got security measures they don't even talk about with the public. The ones they do let people know about are impressive enough. What makes Morelli think it's even possible, let alone that you could help him pull it off?!" Colby too, was in disbelief.

"I've told him over and over that it simply isn't possible, but he just won't believe me! No matter what I say, he won't let go of the idea. He's obsessed with it, as insane as it is!" Charlie's anguished whine trailed off.

"Put that aside for a second" David interrupted. "Why is he so sure you can make it happen for him? Why you? What is it you've got that makes your involvement so important?"

Charles Eppes stared back at his rapt audience, as if trying to determine what else he could tell them.

"Come on, Dr. Eppes, uh, Charlie" Colby prompted. "You're out of the trunk. You might as well come across with the whole megillah."

"Yes, I guess it doesn't make much sense to hold anything back now" Charlie agreed. "Alright then. He thinks I can help him rob the bank because the United States government used my math to assist in designing some of the present security features. "

"Uh huh" Granger said slowly. "Wait a sec. We went over to your place trying to get a line on where you might have gotten to. I was going thru your desk and I found a file full of schematics and calculations. Some of the papers had official government seals on 'em. That have anything to do with the bank?"

"Yes, but that's all just general stuff. Rough calculations and initial plans. Nothing classified. It's in my own personal brand of shorthand. I doubt anyone but me could make any sense out of most of it" Charlie answered.

"So the later work, the stuff that Morelli figures can help him bust his giant piggy bank open, that's locked up somewhere people like him can't get their hands on it?" Sinclair inquired.

"Yeah, or in my head" Charlie Eppes told him unhappily.

"Professor, how did he find out you know all of this stuff?" Colby asked.

Charlie fidgeted uncomfortably for a few seconds, scuffing his shoes across the floorboards. Refusing to look at Granger, he let the silence drag on a minute longer. Rubbing his hands together, his shoulders finally slumped in defeat.

"Never mind, doc. I got it. You told Amita Ramanujan, am I right?" the PI questioned.

"I know what you're both thinking, but you're wrong! Amita loves me! She would never willingly betray anything I told her to Lou Morelli! If she told him anything, it was because he forced her too! What we have is real! You have to believe me!"

"Prof-uh, Charlie, I know you love this woman, and you think she feels the same way about you…" Colby started to say.

"I don't think! I know! She does love me. I told you! Our feelings for each other are genuine! But you don't know Morelli up close! How terrifying it can be to have him holding your life in the palm of his hand! He's heartless! And ruthless! He'll stop at nothing to get what he wants! He…he simply won't listen to reason! His greed is blinding him to any sensible argument! I, I, don't know what I'm going to do…Amita's in such terrible danger! We have to get her out of that place, away from that, that…that thug! We have to! Please you have to help me! You have to help me get her out of there! Please…I, I, I…." Charlie Eppes sputtered to a halt, unsure of how to go on, dropping his face into his cupped hands.

"Okay, you need to calm down. Take a breath or something. Dr. Eppes, we do know what it's like to have Morelli leaning all over you" David told him. ""I'm not sure how, but we are going to help you."

"I know how" Colby commented. "I've heard enough. If we're going to take on Lou Morelli, and I don't see that we have much choice in the matter, we're going to need help. A lot more muscle than the three of us can come up with." He reached for the phone.

Charlie started. "What, what, wh-who, who are you calling?"

"Who do you think? We need some assistance here professor. Morelli is a five hundred pound gorilla. He's got three pairs of nuts in his cracker. If we're going to make him let go we won't be able to do it by ourselves. We need our own gorilla. One who can squeeze him hard enough to get him worrying about his own nuts. That's your brother, and his partner Cooper and the Federal Bureau of Investigation. So I'm going to get on the ole ameche here and ring him up" Colby answered Charlie in a matter of fact tone.

Charlie grabbed for the telephone. "No! No, no! Please, yo…you, you, you can't call Don! You just can't! Please don't call Don! You can't call him! Please!" The curly haired man's agitation was worse than ever.

Granger snatched the device out of the other's reach, surprised. "Why don't you want me to call your brother? If anybody can get you out of this jam, it's him and his pal Hoover's."

"You don't understand" Charlie stuttered. "Don can't get involved in this! He mustn't! I, I…" He didn't go on.

"Your, uh, reluctance to let him in on what's happening with you, it wouldn't have anything to do with that picture we found in your office, now would it?" David brought up. "The one of you at the Communist Party rally? Huh, professor?"

Sinclair's dark eyes gave away nothing, but his voice carried a note that alerted the man his question was directed to. Charlie looked up at him but remained silent.

"I'd kind of like to know what that's all about myself" Colby put in. He looked at his partner and then back at the math genius. "You a commie, professor? Don't lie" he warned.

"No!" Charlie denied dramatically. "I swear! I am not a member of the communist party. I never have been and I never will be! I swear! I, I , it's all so complicated!"

"Simplify it for us" David told him, refusing to let him off the hook. "Cause I'd really like to know the answer and none of this is going any further until I get one."

Charlie studied both men, realizing finally that they'd require some sort of explanation before he'd get any more help from them.

"I told you, I'm not a communist. I was very young when I went to Princeton. A teenager. A sixteen year old prodigy. I wanted desperately to fit in. To have friends, to belong. My age set me apart. Made me stand out. I didn't _want_ to stand out! I wanted to blend in! Be just another student. Another face in the academic crowd. And like anybody else, I wanted friends. People I could talk to, spend time with, you know? People who would look past my age and brain and just be my friends. My mother lived with me, and don't get me wrong, my mother, Margaret, she was great. She tried hard to be there for me. I loved my mother very much. I still appreciate everything she tried to do for me, but…"

"But?" Colby egged him on.

"But she was my mother, you understand? A guy can only spend so much time with his mom. I had a couple of classmates who were members of the party. They would invite me to the meetings. Tell me that I should come and see what they were all about. That the party was made for someone of my 'intellectual gifts.' They'd tell me over and over, every time I saw them in class or on the campus. After a while I started to think, hey what could it hurt? Where's the harm in going to a meeting, just to listen, mind you. Just to…investigate. So, one night, I…I waited until my mother was asleep, because I had a feeling she might object, and I _was_ a teenager, and all that. Then, when the coast was clear, I slipped out and went to join my friends. At first, I thought it was going to be the best night of my life. They took me to a bar, I had a beer for the first time, they give me a smoke… it was…they didn't treat me like a kid, you know? I felt like an equal, like one of the crowd, like an adult. I'm telling you, it was the cat's pajamas. I was over the moon. Then we went to the party meeting. I came down to earth pretty fast. I was there about an hour, talking to some of the members and listening to their politics when I knew it wasn't for me. That it was something I couldn't ever agree with or be a part of. After that, all I wanted to do was leave, to go back to my apartment and get into bed and forget about this huge mistake I'd made. As quickly as possible, I did. I made some excuse about not feeling well, and I left. Took a taxi home and never went to another meeting. Before I could get out of there, though, my friends insisted on "commemorating the occasion" with a photo. I just wanted to leave. To get home, especially before my mother realized I wasn't there. So, I let them take the picture and then I left. I never said a word to mom. Or to Larry Fleinhardt, whom I met shortly thereafter. He and I have became quite good friends, but I never told him. I never told anyone. I forgot all about that stupid picture, until…" he paused. "One morning I was opening the mail at my office at CalSci. The picture came, along with a note from Lou Morelli. Instructions to meet him at his office. The note said I wouldn't be the only one sorry if I failed to show. I don't even know how Morelli got his hands on it, but I guess that doesn't matter. He said he knew all about my dealings with the government, and the bank, that I'd helped design the security and I was going to help him make a sizable 'unauthorized withdrawal.' I tried to tell him it can't be done, that I'd only helped with a portion of the security, that there are other measures in place…He didn't care. He's got robbing that bank in his head and that's that. As far as he's concerned, nothing else exists until he gets his hands on the cash."

"How 'bout your brother?" David wanted to know. "How does he figure in? Why don't you want to tell him what the deal is?"

"Morelli. He knows Don is with the FBI. He also knows my father is a planner for the city. He knows where they both live, their schedules, everything. He even showed me more pictures. Ones he'd had taken of each of them as they worked, did their jobs in various public places. He told me if I didn't do what he wanted, that he'd send copies of the picture of me at the rally to Don's boss's at the Bureau and to Dad's at city hall. That he'd ruin both their lives and careers. And he'll do it, I know he will. I disappeared because I'm stalling. I needed time to try and think of a way out of this! To decide what to do! But I wanted to keep an eye on Amita. I know what you think about her, but if she's telling Morelli about me it's only because he's not giving her any choice. I'm so afraid for her. What happens to her once that man finally accepts that the bank can't be robbed? Once he decides he has no more use for her! He'll kill her, don't you see that! He'll kill Amita and destroy my family! "

"Still, your brother being who he is, that can help you a lot" Colby could see Charlie getting keyed up again.

"Don and I, we…well, we don't always get along. I mean, I love my brother and I know he loves me, but we don't always see eye to eye. Sometimes, our relationship gets a bit…difficult. Since I came back to California, started working at CalSci, he and I we've gotten a little closer, gotten along better, but it's still touch and go sometimes. I'm not sure…I don't know if he'd understand. I mean, I know how proud he is of being an FBI agent. How much he loves his job and this country. I know it was just a foolish, momentary lapse, but how can I let him know that my dumb mistake might ruin his career? The one he's wanted since he was a kid? How do I do that? And my father! He's worked hard all his life to be where he is now professionally. Lou Morelli could ruin all of that! And it would be my fault!" Charlie was anguished.

"I know it's got to be hard" David answered him, "and you're not going to like hearing this, but you gotta get past all of that. You have to tell your brother what's going on. You don't have a choice. None of us has a choice here, professor. You're right about one thing. Lou Morelli, when he figures you and Amita Ramanujan are no more good to him, he is going to kill you." David was coldly blunt. He had to get thru to the distraught mathematician. His words had the desired effect. Charlie Eppes looked at him, surprised at the lack of empathy. "I realize you don't want to hear this, but you need to." Sinclair went on. "He'll kill you and he just might go after your father and brother too. At the very least, he'll send copies of that picture to their boss's. Even if he get what he wants. Even if this crazy scheme of his succeeds and he does get his hands on the money. He'll still wreck your family and do you and Miss Ramanujan in. "Cause that's what he does, professor. That's how he operates. Lou Morelli is a user. He uses people up and then he throws 'em away when he's done with 'em. Usually dead. What gives you the idea you'd be an exception, huh? You think you'd get a pass? That he wouldn't dispose of you, your family and Amita Ramanujan like garbage? Come on, Charlie, I thought you were supposed to have a brilliant mind. Try using it for a second. Think it thru. Your brother and the FBI, they're the best hope any of us have of surviving Lou Morelli. We can't afford to pass it up."

"There's also this" Colby put in his two bits worth. "You and your brother, you might be kind of itchy around each other sometimes, but he loves you. And he's very concerned about you. He made sure David and I understood that when he had us down at FBI Headquarters." His mouth twisted up at one corner and he rubbed his chest as he gave his partner a dry look.

This news came as a shock to Charlie. "You, you talked to Don? You were at the FBI?"

"Yeah, for a while" Colby informed him. "Your brother and his partner Cooper caught us at your house. They weren't too happy to see us there. He thinks we had something to do with your disappearance. That we're working for Morelli. In a way, he's right."

Charlie started, giving Granger a wary look.

"Miss Ramanaujan hired us to find you, but Lou Morelli put the money in her hand and the words in her mouth. She wouldn't have been sitting where you are now if he hadn't sent her here. You say you love her, and I believe you. You want to get her out of there, take her away from all of this? Only way to do that is to make sure Morelli get's his elbows checked permanently. That can't happen without your brother. Me and David, we're good, but we're not that good."

Charlie hung his head again, not wanting to, but seeing the points of his two persuaders. After several moments he nodded reluctantly. "You're right, both of you. I know that. I just… I was hoping that…you're right. What do we do now?"

In response, Colby picked up the phone's receiver again, asking the operator to put him in touch with the FBI.

"Federal Bureau of Investigation" the operator announced primly. "How may I help you?"

"Special Agent Don Eppes, please" Colby Granger requested. He listened while the connection was made.

"Agent Eppes's desk" an unfamiliar voice answered.

"Uh, I need to speak to Agent Eppes" Granger responded. Why wasn't Don Eppes answering his own telephone?

"He's unavailable. He's working a case. Can I help you? Or maybe take a message?" the strange voice sounded tired and bored.

"Agent William Cooper then" Colby settled for a fallback position.

"He ain't here either, Einstein" the person said sarcastically. "He and Eppes are partners. They're working the case together! That make any sense to you?"

"You know when they'll be back?" Colby said thru clenched teeth.

"Well, geez, let me check their calendars! No, since I ain't neither one of 'em's mommy, I don't have any idea. You want to leave a message or don't ya?"

"I'll call back" Colby snapped, hanging up the phone. He turned to the other two.

"We got kind of a snafu. Your brother's not there. Neither is Cooper. They're out somewhere working a case. We're going to have to stash you someplace until we can get in touch with him. Some place Morelli wouldn't think to look for you. Unless that is, you'd be willing to just wait at the FBI until he comes back? Somehow, I didn't think you'd go for that one."

"Why can't I stay here?" Charlie objected. He couldn't explain it since he'd just met Granger and Sinclair, but for the first time in days, he finally felt safe.

"No good, professor. Morelli's already putting the screws to us to find you, and the clock is ticking. He got a real jones to set eyes on you. Once he cottons to the fact that we're not going to serve you up to him like a Christmas turkey, this is the first place he's going to look. We have to move you. And it has to be someplace he wouldn't think to go." David looked at Granger, saying nothing his meaning obvious.

Colby got it right away. "You'd think he'd agree to this? I'd mean, we'd have to tell him about Morelli. It's only fair to let him know what he'd be getting into."

"He told me that if there was ever a way to return the favor, to call on him. No matter what it was or who was involved. I think now's a good time to take him up on the offer" Sinclair answered. "Besides, can you think of a less likely hiding place to occur to Lou Morelli?"

Colby had to concede the point. "No, I can't. Okay, Charlie. We better get going." He stood, followed by his partner and Charlie Eppes. "I hate to break it to you like this, but we're gonna need you to get back in the trunk for a while."

Charlie's eyes got big. "What?!" But, but, I, I, no please don't do that!" He stopped just shy of whimpering.

"It's only for a little while, until we get where we're going, and that's not far. We can't take a chance on you being seen" Granger reasoned.

"But can't I hunch down in the backseat, maybe ride on the floor? Nobody will know I'm there!" Charlie tried a desperate compromise.

David answered. "Morelli's people got sharp peepers. They get even a glimpse of you, and it's over. I don't even need to check outside to know they're already watching this place. The trunk's our best option. You've trusted us this far. I promise it'll only be for a few minutes this time."

Charlie's face was a study in disgusted resignation. "Alright, but can I at least have a couple of blankets to lie on. Those fifteen hours lying on top of the spare were painful."

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"Do I at least get to know where we're headed?" Charlie asked as he made his distasteful transition back into the trunk of Colby Granger's car.

"Don't worry" Granger reassured him, "it's someplace you can relax for a while and be secure while we wait for your brother to show up. You can trust this person. He'll take good care of you and he won't ask a lot of questions. Plus he knows how to keep his mouth shut. It'll be okay. You more comfortable this time?"

Charlie nodded from atop the blankets and pillows (which the PI's normally kept stuffed into the office's only closet.)

"Good. Now pull your other leg in so I can close this thing."

Charlie did, and Colby pushed the lid down firmly, took a peek outside and went to speak to David, who was already behind the Deluxe's wheel.

"I was right" David told him. "Morelli's already watching the place. You got your diapers pinned on?"

Colby knew his partner wasn't asking how he was dressed. He pulled back his jacket so David could see the Colt .45 M1911A1 holstered at his side. "Got extra clips. Sure hope we don't need 'em."

"Me too" David replied.

Granger didn't need to see Sinclair's Colt .38 Super. He knew the other would be prepared for trouble. Neither liked carrying guns in the normal course of their work. Both had learned the hard way that if you carried one, sooner or later, you'd probably have to use it. There were exceptions. This job was one of them.

Taking one final look around, Colby pushed the garage's sliding door up, allowing David to pull the car on to the street. Checking over his shoulder as he climbed into the passenger side, he could see Lou Morelli's hoods preparing to follow.

"We're gonna have to ditch our not so secret admirers before we get where we're going" he said.

"You think?" David gave him a sideways look at the unnecessary remark.

Colby shrugged. So he was a little nervous. Being trailed by heavily armed hoodlums, who worked for a bigger hoodlum, one who'd threatened to end you, did that to a man.

David drove for several minutes, winding the car in and around the L.A. streets. Hopefully his aimless twists and turns were lulling Morelli's attack dogs to sleep. Suddenly, without warning, David spun the wheel sharply to the left, stomping on the accelerator. The Ford's powerful V-8 responded, supplying him with the power he requested. The automobile surged forward, leaving their surprised pursuers scrambling to catch up. He spun the wheel again and then once more, taking the corners at dangerously sharp angles. The tires squealed in protest as he pushed the Deluxe for all it was worth.

Checking the mirrors, Colby could see that Morelli's goons, temporarily left behind by Sinclair's maneuvering, were regaining lost ground fast.

"They're back" he announced.

"Thanks for the update! Now let me drive, will ya?" David barked, taking the car thru another series of impossible turns. The trunk's passenger howled in protest as he was thrown about uncontrollably.

"Hey!" Charlie yelled, "What are you doing up there?! You didn't say anything about all of this!" he shouted. "Are you trying to kill me?!"

Mind on losing the gangsters, David ignored the professor's objections.

"Charlie, we're a little busy! Shut up and hang on!" Colby yelled back.

Something of a car buff, Colby liked to pamper his transportation. When he and David didn't have a client, he could often be found tinkering under the hood, fine tuning its inner workings. The car now repaid the premium treatment, speeding thru the streets like a Hollywood Park sure thing with competitors hot on its heels.

Colby noticed David's erratic path was taking them near to the waterfront. "We headed for the docks?!" He hollered over the engine's roar.

"Maybe we can lose 'em in all those warehouse's!" David yelled back.

Colby grabbed for the doorframe as the car took another sharp left. He held on as he was thrown off balance with another lighting fast turn. Suddenly bullet holes appeared in the rear window and windshield of the Deluxe. The throaty rattle of tommy guns joined the chorus as Morelli's gang closed the distance. The windshield of Granger's car disintegrated, dowsing he and David with shards. Driving with one hand, Sinclair frantically cleared glass from his face, feeling the tiny cuts as he did so. They were very near the docks now, weaving the car in and around the huge wooden and corrugated steel warehouse's, some empty, some full of startled dockworkers and cargo.

"You alright?!" he screamed to Colby.

Holding on grimly, trying to right himself, Granger nodded, his face bloody also. "I got glass where it's never supposed to be, but yeah, I'm good!"

More Thompson fire peppered the car, making Swiss cheese of the remaining glass and punching holes in the car's body. A pained yelp from the trunk reached Colby's ears.

"Charlie! You okay?!" He shouted, frantic. A second or two of absolute panic ticked by.

"Yes!" Charlie yelled. "I'm fine! I'm not hurt, but I'd really like to get out of here now! Why are they shooting at us?!"

"They don't know you're with us! They ain't happy about being left behind, I guess! Tuck in behind those blankets, pillows! Use the spare, the jack, whatever! Get behind as much stuff as you can!" Colby advised, helpless for the moment to do more. It was a miracle the professor hadn't been hit, but it couldn't last!

"Don't you have guns?! Why don't you shoot back?!" Charlie begged at the top of his lungs. "Maybe they'll back off!"

Colby traded a knowing glance with David. "Shoot from a speeding target at a speeding target that's already firing at us?! No thanks, Professor! I think I'll save that for the newsreels!"

As good a condition as it was in, the Ford Deluxe hadn't really been created to take this kind of sustained punishment. The abuse began to tell. The engine whine in agony, seeking relief. The car carrying Morelli's killers began to close the gap, despite David Sinclair's best efforts. It was about to be all over, one way or another.

The astonished waterfront workers could only watch, mouths agape as the violent car chase unfolded in front of their eyes. The savvy ones ducked as lead began to fly, taking cover behind large wooden crates and palettes. One brave soul made a dash for his office's telephone. The coppers needed to get in on this action.

Coaxing the Deluxe for all he could wring from it, David knew he was fast running out of options. Guiding the car as close to the waterfront's edge as he dared, he saw trees and grass to one side, bordered by shallow bluffs leading down to the water. He made a trio of turns down the broad concrete alleyways. As he rounded the next corner, a huge forklift suddenly blocked the way, its bulk covering nearly the entire passage! Oblivious to the mayhem taking place around him, the lift's operator angled his load into the yawning doorway ahead. Desperately, knowing there was no way they could clear the small opening underneath, Sinclair cranked the wheel in a bootlegger's turn, spinning the car a hundred and eighty degrees. Stomping the accelerator, he bulled forward, only to be cut off by Morelli's punks, Tommy's blazing. Throwing it into reverse, he, Colby and the helpless, trunk bound Charlie Eppes were now traveling backwards at sixty miles an hour! Hysterically, he checked the rearview. The way was clear! The forklift was gone. He whirled the car in another one eighty and gunned it, making for the road next to the bluffs. Reaching the road, David rounded the corner, the car nearly balanced on both left side tires. The ocean straight ahead, they'd need to make one more turn. Almost there! He ducked as more slugs zoomed past his close shaven head. Almost there! One more turn and they'd have a clear straight highway. Sixty feet! Fifty! Forty! Thir…

**BOOM!!! **Lady luck finally deserted Granger, Sinclair and their charge entirely as a round from one of the guns shooting at them hit one of the Deluxe's tires. The tire lost containment explosively. David fought for and lost control of the auto at about the same time the Ford ran out of road. Unable to make the turn, the car instead crashed thru the railing lining the bluffs! Hurtling like an ungainly metal bird thru the air, it soared twenty feet down into the dark, forbidding waters of Los Angeles harbor.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Here we goes again. I still ain't got nuttin to do wit Numb3rs or any of da Numb3rs characters. Da original characters is mine, get me?**

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Knuckles Lamone watched as the car rammed thru the steel guardrail. Along with the two other Morelli gang members, he looked on as it plummeted into the water. Landing with an enormous splash, the vehicle began to sink right away. He could see the occupants trapped inside struggling to get out. It didn't look like they was gonna make it. This was bad. Very, very bad. He knew the boss wasn't gonna like it. A lot.

Vinnie "Bent Nose" Cappa and "Iggy" Lorhmann stood watching alongside, more interested than anything else.

"I aint' never seen nothin' like dat before" Iggy finally blurted. "It's really something ain't it? Huh! We better get back and let the boss know what happened."

Knuckles blew his stack. Yanking the newsboy cap from his head, he whacked Iggy several times with it.

"Are youse a complete moron?!" he yelled. "We can't go back to the boss and tell him dis!"

Iggy danced back out of swatting distance, one arm raised to shield himself from more blows. "What?! What'd I say?! What'd I say?!"

"We can't give the boss dis kinda news you idiot! Dose two" he gestured down at the submerging car, "they was supposed to be looking for the professor. Da boss wants to find the brainhead real bad. Now we go and do dis and you're askin' me what'd you say!? What do you think the boss is gonna do to us if go back and tell him we lost da only line he had on findin' da teach?! Huh?! What??! First ya goes and starts shootin' at 'em _after_ I tells ya not to, and now dis!"

Lou Morelli's probable reaction, which hadn't had a chance to occur to either Iggy or Vinnie as of yet, did so now. They both paled at the thought of the possible consequences of their little afternoon jaunt. They looked to Knuckles, their leader.

"Dey was tryin' ta get away! We had to stop 'em!" Iggy's eyes were wild. Being scared wasn't a familiar feeling.

Vinnie began to sweat in earnest. The last guy to make the boss mad had disappeared forever. Not before having the business end of a sledgehammer applied to his hands, feet and knees, Vinnie remembered. "What are we gonna do!" he wailed.

"Well, I don't know about youse two mugs" Knuckles answered making a life altering decision, "but it come to me right dis moment that dere must be more to dis great country uh ours dan just L.A. I got a sudden powerful desire to see some of it!"

"You, you mean cheese it right now ?! Take it on the lam?! Don't even go back to the club?!" Iggy's simple mind struggled to absorb the idea.

"Tell ya what" Knuckles said, hearing the sound of police sirens growing ever louder, "If youse wants to go back and tell da boss what happened, go on and do it! But you're walkin', cause I'm takin' da car and dustin' off while I got legs to do it wit."

"Can we come too?" Iggy begged desperately. He was practically sobbing, caught between the approaching law and his boss's expected wrath. Vinnie nodded in agreement behind him. Right now, Knuckles and his road trip idea was the only salvation in sight.

Knuckles kicked himself. He shoulda just kept his mouth shut, got back into the car and left these two chowderheads standing here pickin' their noses. Too late now. "Yeah, yeah, come on, let's beat it before the cops get here! Come on! Let's get movin'." I gotta stop by my place and grab some stuff for da road."

The former Morelli men piled back into their still running Buick and zoomed off, just missing the arrival of the police and thinning the growing crowd by three.

Watching them go, one of the dockworkers, a longshoreman, found the nearest payphone. Feeding the machine a nickel, he dialed a number from memory. After a couple of rings, an answer.

"_**Sterling Room"**_

"Yeah" one of Lou Morelli's pairs of eyes on the docks responded. "Put the boss on, I got some news for him." The man listened for a few seconds, then yelled "he's gonna want to know this! Put him on right now!"

After a couple minutes of nothing, Morelli's gravely snarl sounded. "This better be good!" he warned.

"It's George Campbell, boss. Down at pier 35."

"I remember ya! Now what are you callin' me for?!" Morelli barked.

Relieved to be delivering the news by phone and not in person, George informed Lou Morelli of the afternoon's developments.

The mobster's response was predictable. George heard sulphurous swearing as the phone slammed down in his ear. Glad he was only the bearer of bad tidings and not the cause, he went back to gawking.

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The chilly waters of the harbor gushed into the Deluxe thru its bullet damaged windows with reckless abandon. Sweeping what was left of the glass barriers away with liquid force, the Pacific Ocean engulfed the Ford and its passengers, swiftly sucking them under.

Knocked unconscious by the impact, Colby Granger snapped awake as the icy conditions revived him. Involuntarily, he also inhaled a mouthful of seawater. His instincts and reflexes took over and saved him from further harm. Wriggling free, he kicked for the sunlight, his head breaking the surface quickly. Coughing up the water, he blinked, stripped out of his jacket, took a huge gulp of air and dived.

As he reached the sunken car, resting on a broad sandbar, he could see David extricate himself from the driver's side, that window being gone too. That left Charlie. The normal method of opening the trunk was out. Hoping it was still there, Colby probed the car's backseat. Got it! Yes! He grasped the crowbar and swam for the trunk. Sinclair followed. Hefting the iron rod, Granger leaned all his body weight into the effort. Success! The lid popped up. Even in the murky surroundings, Colby could see the terrified face of Charles Eppes. Reaching in, he and David each grabbed Charlie by an arm, hauling him toward the surface.

"Huuuuuhhh!" Three sets of lungs gasped with relief, taking in the tangy air gratefully. The trio bobbed in the water, treading to keep afloat.

"Th…they…they…I, I…we almos…they tried to…Aacck! They could have killed us! We almost, Aaackkk!! dr…we… Aaacckk! We…!" Charlie alternately hacked up water, fulminated at his near death experience and floundered in the foaming seas.

"Charlie! Professor! Charlie! Calm down! Save your energy for swimming!" David commanded. "Come on, we gotta get to shore! You swim good?! Then let's go! Let's get out of the water!"

At last they reached the beach, struggling soaked, freezing and exhausted to the massive support beams underneath the pier.

Collapsing onto the damp sand, Professor Charles Eppes quivered both from cold and adrenaline. "They almost…I thought I was going to die" he said softly, arms wrapped around himself.

Propped tiredly against a pylon, Colby answered."But you didn't, doc. You made it. We all did." He pushed away from his leaning post. "Now we gotta get out of here before the Buttons show up. I'm pretty sure they're gonna want to ask us questions we're not ready to answer."

"What about your car?!" Charlie objected. "We can't just leave it!"

"That's exactly what we're gonna do" Colby said. Casting a last look in the direction of his lost wheels. Too bad. The Deluxe had always been good to him. "We can't afford to stick around. We have to get you out of sight until we can connect with your brother and the G squad."

"Why can't we just tell the police what's going on?" Charlie suggested.

"No cops" David said with finality. The less he had to do with LAPD the better. His opinion of them hadn't improved in the last twenty months

Lou Morelli's got a lot guys in his pocket. Some of 'em… they wear uniforms" Colby explained gently.

"You…You're not suggesting…" Charlie started to say.

"Yeah, he is. And he's right" David cut in. " No cops" he repeated. "Now, let's get outta here before we get company we don't want." With that the three men cut under the pier in the opposite direction of the approaching authorities, before they could be spotted.

Their exit from the water didn't go entirely unnoticed. Pointing fingers out of the crowd signaled to the police. From his gawkers post in the phone booth on the pier, George Campbell made another call.

"What is it now?!" Morelli rasped angrily.

"Boss, they made it of the water, the guys from the car. They got out! Three of 'em" Campbell reported.

"Did you say _three?" _Morelli interrupted. "You're _sure _you seen three guys?!" he questioned furiously.

"Yeah, absolutely" George replied, confused. Two, three, ten, what difference did it make? His confusion only mounted when Lou Morelli once again terminated the call by slamming the receiver down in George's ear. Before he could speculate further, Campbell heard his foreman bellowing for him to get back to work. The people in the car, however many there'd been, wasn't his problem no more.

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Don Eppes stared straight ahead , the Los Angeles streets slipping by unseen. Billy Cooper worried over his partner's state of mind as they got closer to headquarters. In the three years they'd been a team, Cooper had gotten to know the mercurial Eppes well. That tended to happen with someone you depended on to watch your back on a daily basis.

Don was close to a blowup, Coop could tell. Worry over Charlie's disappearance was eating up all the available space in his brain. He had none left for casework. A fact that seemed lost on their boss AD Peter Wainwright.

Tie always perfectly knotted, the Ivy League Wainwright was liked by almost none of the agents he supervised. That didn't surprise Agent William Cooper at all. He could barely stomach Pete Wainwright his own self. The man was always trying too hard to be the next Elliot Ness or Melvin Purvis. Protecting his rich pals, like movie producer Sherman Humboldt was another thing high on the AD's priority list.

Then too, Billy got the feeling Wainwright had a particular dislike for one Agent Donald Eppes. Cooper couldn't exactly put a finger on why, and he sure couldn't prove it, but there it was. Don, and by extension, Billy, seemed to draw the worst assignments. Any case that was a potential career ender, a complete waste of time, or subject to wind up in the cold files would inevitably find its way to Don and Coop. It probably galled their superior that the two agents managed to wrestle almost every case handed to them into submission. That factor most likely contributed to this most recent fool's errand. The job kept them out of the office for hours, leaving Don unable to continue the search for his younger sibling. Several hours of wasted time had the Eppes pot just about ready to boil over. Pulling the car into the Bureau's parking lot, Cooper knew he had to back his buddy away from the ledge before going into the building.

"How ya doin' over there? You good? I gotta say it pal, you're lookin' kinda wound up to me" Billy said plainly. Soft shoeing his way around it was no good.

"Six hours, Billy! Six hours wasted babysitting Sherman Humboldt's latest floozy! How is it the FBI's job to make sure this broad's ex-husband stays away from her?! I could've been looking for Charlie! Wainwright knows that! He knows! First we gotta cut loose Granger and Sinclair and now all these lost hours! I'm gonna go in there and__"

"No, you're not!" Cooper cut him off. "That is precisely what you're not going to do! You, my friend, are NOT going to go in there and give Peter Wainwright just the excuse he's always looking for to take your badge! Come on, Don, settle down and use your head, will ya?! I know how worried you are about Charlie! I get it! I do! I'm worried about him myself! Charlie's almost like my kid brother too! But think about this. You can do him a heap more good with that badge backing you up than you can on your own! You go in there and rip into the AD and you come out a civilian! How's that helpin' your brother?! Huh?!" Cooper backed off slightly, seeing his argument bear fruit. Don was beginning to calm down some. He continued in a normal tone of voice. "Trust me, okay? We _are_ going find the kid, but you gotta keep your head on straight, savvy?" He waited for Don's reluctant nod. "Good, now we can go in. We gotta talk to Kemper and Daniels. Before we got sent on our snipe hunt I asked them to run down a few leads for us." Cooper nearly laughed aloud at Eppes shocked look. "I'm lookin' out for ya partner, always. Told ya that a long time ago." The agents went in to resume their search for the AWOL math professor.

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As surely as he knew Newton's _Principia Mathematica, _Charlie Eppes was certain Colby Granger had been correct. Lou Morelli would never think to look for him here. Charlie doubted if Morelli even knew this place existed. The hushed, peaceful atmosphere relaxed him somewhat as he warmed himself in the late afternoon sunlight pouring thru the stained glass windows. Nestled beside the neighborhood's only park, St. Theresa'sCatholic Church seemed the perfect resting place for the weary mathematician and his protectors. He should be thankful to be alive. He should be grateful to be here. He _should_ be concentrating on how to explain all of this to Don and his father when he saw them next. Instead, all he could think about was Amita. He'd been drawn to her from their first meeting. His feelings for her grew stronger every day, until finally he knew he was in love with the dark eyed beauty. And no matter how much cold water Colby or David threw on it, he knew she loved him back. Charlie was desperately worried for the woman he loved. What awful things might she be suffering at the hands of the ruthless Lou Morelli. Thwarted in his efforts to locate Charlie, was the gangster taking it out on Amita? He tried to hide it, but Charlie couldn't stop thinking about her. He had to make sure she was safe. He had to.

David Sinclair and Colby Granger were nearly done arranging things with Father Nathaniel. To his credit, the priest had taken it completely in stride when the trio showed up at the church's rear entrance, soggy and drained. Providing them with clean, dry shoes, clothing, hot soup and sandwiches, the clergyman waited patiently for an explanation. Hearing that Granger and Sinclair needed a secure place to park their charge until the FBI could be contacted didn't bother Father Nate. Even the revelation that Lou Morelli was looking for this particular refugee didn't phase the unflappable curate. To Charlie, the man's ready acceptance was exceptional. Even more so since both David and Colby's guns survived the dip in the ocean, and both were still armed. The weapons might need to dry out to be useful, but they were present.

Charlie's admission that he was not of the Catholic faith was greeted with a tolerant smile and a "nobody's perfect, my son." The professor was shown to a small, neat room in the rear of the church, a comfortable cot in one corner. The room's one window was covered by floral curtains, obviously handmade. Charlie sank down onto the cot, suddenly too wrung out to stand any longer.

"Just tried to call your brother again, doc. No joy" Colby advised, "David says we should just make it a face to face sit down. He's probably right, so that's our next move. You should try to get some rest. You gotta be worn down to the bone. Stay put, and we'll be back soon, hopefully with your brother in tow."

Still fretting over Amita, Charlie had to privately admit the idea of some sleep sounded seductive. A few minutes with his eyes closed couldn't hurt, could it? He nodded and stretched out on the cot, intending to remain there for only a few moments. Once Colby and David were gone, Charlie meant to slip out unseen and head for the _**Sterling Room. **_He realized what an incredible risk he would be taking, but insuring Amita's wellbeing was more important than anything. Still planning his surreptitious escape, his eyes drifted closed. A minute later, Colby eased out, closing the door behind the softly snoring college educator.

Sinclair and Father Nate waited for him in the narrow hallway. They all went into the priest's tiny office to discuss what needed to be done next.

"Father" David started out "Colby and I need to get to back to C & D before we meet with the feds. For one thing, since we had to park Granger's car in the harbor, we're gonna need a set of wheels. Problem is, most of the streets between here and there are Morelli territory."

"That's one way to put it" Granger snorted. "Morelli's got eyes and ears all over the city. It's _all_ his territory. He's probably got a bunch of his 'employees' out lookin' for us already. Staying out of sight of Lou's trigger men and getting back to our own lay ain't gonna be easy."

Father Nate, who'd done his fair share of worldly living before taking holy orders, looked thoughtful. "If you two boys can see your way to being flexible, I might have a suggestion" he said, eyeing his listeners speculatively.

Twenty minutes later, the parish truck, a serviceable vehicle, pulled out of the lot behind the church. Its bed piled high with baskets and crates of fruits and vegetables. The driver was Sister Anne, Father Nathaniel's right hand nun and a reformed bootlegger and getaway driver. The priest wasn't the only one at St. Theresa's with a colorful past. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that, but if things went askew, Nate wanted someone behind the wheel who knew a thing or two about how to lose a tail. He was further comforted by the fact that Sister Anne, though repented of her misdeeds, hadn't totally shed her lawless instincts and kept the venerable pickup's engine humming like a Gregorian chant.

Looking for all the world like a woman on a simple resupply mission, the good Sister motored down the road humming to herself. She did try to avoid the more egregious bumps and potholes. The goods would arrive at their destination considerably less bruised.

The other great thing, at least in this instance, about C & D Private Investigations location was that the PI's shared tenancy of the building. Colby and David had their office on a portion of the ground floor. The rest of that floor and all of the remaining three were taken up by the St. Theresa's Children's Home. Affiliated with and supported by the church, the orphanage was home to forty boisterous energetic youngsters of various ages and their guardians, a dozen nuns of the order. Puttering the distance at a sedate thirty miles an hour, Sister Anne reacted not at all to the rudeness of irritated drivers longing to go faster. Patience, she'd learned, was indeed a virtue. Her cautious approach gave her time to peruse the scene as she reached her destination. With the practice of someone who knew how to spot hidden trouble, she easily picked out the two men parked down the block from the orphanage. They were trying so hard to appear disinterested in C & D Private Investigations that it was almost comical. They didn't have the look of police. That meant they were most likely scalawags sent by Lou Morelli. She'd dealt with their type before and their presence didn't bother her. In her day, Sister Anne had outrun revenuers on moonless nights, doing a hundred miles an hour on roads that would make the Holy Father fall to his knees in a cold sweat. This pair of clumsy button men was not going to be a problem.

Pulling up to the wooden double gates at the rear of the building, she honked twice. Once the truck was inside the gates swung shut behind her, their seven foot height obscuring any view from the street. Some of the older children and several nuns came out to assist with the unloading. Appearing in their wake was the administrator of the Children's Home, Sister Willhemeina. Remarkably spry at eighty nine, she'd refused retirement three times. With "friends" in Rome, no one could force her to go. After she'd fallen and broken a hip, the Bishop had been cautiously optimistic that she would, at last, go gently into that good night. No such luck. Following a month's convalescence, Willhemeina came hobbling back on crutches and simply picked up where she left off. Bishop Latham, throwing up his hands in resignation, accepted that Sister "Willie" as she was referred to (NOT in her hearing) would be there until she got ready to leave, or until the Lord punched her ticket, whichever came first.

"Sister Anne" Willhemenia greeted her counterpart with her customary imperiousness. "Please don't take this to mean that I am not pleased to see you, but we're not due for a delivery of foodstuffs until next week. What brings you here at such an odd time?" Willie believed in the schedule.

"I've got kind of a special delivery today, Sister" Anne responded, clambering out of the truck. The last of the baskets was off loaded, showing a layer of well used tarp. Once all the helpers were inside and only she and the older nun remained, Sister Anne pealed back the tarp to reveal the relieved, sweltering forms of Colby Granger and David Sinclair. More than happy to do so, they jumped down from the truck's bed.

Sister Willhemenia's eyes narrowed behind her coke bottle glasses, and her lips pursed disapprovingly.

"Mr. Granger, Mr. Sinclair, I might have known to find you in the middle of such a scene. You, in particular, Mr. Granger" she said. She crossed her arms, giving Colby the look which quelled legions of children in to obedience.

Grinning, Colby leapt forward. Taking the frowning elderly nun in his arms, he kissed her on one cheek, making a smacking sound and cooed, "Willhemenia, doll face, when are you gonna stop playing hard to get and give me a chance, huh?" Behind him, he could hear David fighting to keep control.

"Well really! Unhand me at once" she demanded, wriggling free of Colby's light grasp. She turned to Sister Anne, uncharacteristically flustered. "Does Father know about this?!"

"Uh, Sister, it was Father Nathaniel's idea." Hooking her arm inside the other's, Anne gently steered Willhemenia away. "Why don't we go inside? There's a little bit more to it." She guided her confused fellow nun into the building, giving David and Colby an exaggerated wink as she closed the door.

Once the ladies had left, David Sinclair doubled over with laughter, holding on to the wooden slats of the truck's sides for support.

"Granger, you are one wacky cat!" he said, still chuckling. "Come on, Casanova, let's go."

The building's beneficial design happened to include an inner hallway between the two halves. Sinclair and Granger were able to utilize that advantage to get from the Children's Home to C & D's private entrance. Using the key on a chain around his neck, David unlocked the door.

Waiting inside they found an unexpected visitor. The man had wavy salt and pepper hair and appeared to be in his late fifties or early sixties. Nervously twirling a fedora in his fingers, he stepped forward, extending one hand in introduction.

"Hello. My name is Alan Eppes. Donnie tells me you two are looking for my other son, Charlie."

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As David talked to Charles and Don Eppes father, Colby studied the man. He could definitely see the family resemblance. Quiet and composed, the elder Eppes had a calming presence about himself. He reminded Granger of his own late father, unassuming but reassuring at the same time.

"I can't tell you how relieved" Alan was saying to Sinclair, "I am to hear that Charlie is safe. Don and myself, we've been going out of our minds. This disappearing business, it's not like Charlie at all to do something like this. I was imagining any number of terrible things, I don't mind saying. I can't thank you both enough for all your help. Please can you take me to Charlie? Not that I don't believe you when you say he's alright, but I'd kind of like to see for myself. Why would he just vanish without a word? Let his brother and I think the worst ? I'm going to give him the business about that, let me tell you!" The fatherly man had gone from fretful, to relived and now as beginning to get a little angry with his errant younger son.

"Uh, Mr. Eppes-" David began

"Please, call me Alan, I insist."

"Sure, Alan. Um, Alan, we'd like to take you straight to Charlie, but it's not quite that simple." David further explained. "See, Charlie's got himself in a little bit of hot water. And it's gonna take a little maneuvering to get him out of it. He's, uh, look, don't get worked up when I tell you this, okay? But Charlie, he's got some very unpleasant people looking for him. These, people, they don't have any idea where he is right now, but they ain't gonna stop lookin' for him. They got a certain vested interest in finding him. If we're gonna keep 'em away from the professor, we gotta do this the right way."

"Yeah" Colby chimed in. "That means getting your _other_ son to believe us long enough to help. With the FBI in on this, we can make it so Charlie doesn't have to worry about these certain people bothering him ever again. But the problem is, Don Eppes, he's more interesting in leaning on us than listening to us. He don't believe we're trying to help. Before we can get you and him and Charlie all back together in the same place again, we need somebody who can get thru to him, and we ain't got a lot of time to work with here."

"Unpleasant people?! What unpleasant people? Who? Why do they want to hurt my son? Will one of you please explain what's going on?"

Now Granger could see Alan Eppes beginning to become frightened again. He and David didn't want to have to tell the man that his genius son was being sought by a vicious criminal. They might have to, though.

"We can't tell you everything" Colby answered, wanting to put the anxious father more at ease, "but this person that's looking for Charlie wants to do something that he thinks your son can help him get done. Charlie doesn't want to do it, but he needed time to think of a way out, so he dropped out of sight for a while."

"I don't understand. If Charlie needed help, why wouldn't he just come to me? Or Donnie? Why run away? It doesn't make sense! It's almost as if he's hiding from us! Why would he do that? Why didn't he just talk to his family?!" Now there was confusion mixed with Alan's concern and anger.

"I think that's something you should take up with Charlie" David advised. "Which you can do as soon as we can get in touch with your FBI agent son. You think you can get him to give us a hearing? Like Colby said, we're on kind of a tight schedule."

Alan stood. "I get Donnie to listen, alright!" he promised. "He'll hear me out if I have to pin his ear to the wall! He and Charlie, they can be like oil and water sometimes, but they love each other. And this is no time for nonsense. I'll see Don and put an end to this pigheadedness of his right now! Are you coming with me to talk to him?"

Colby started to respond, but there was a knock at the hallway door before he could speak. Sister Anne poked her whimple covered head thru the opening.

"Everything's ready, we should go now" she said, obviously having a hard time keeping a straight face.

Granger and Sinclair stood, reluctant. They both dreaded what was about to happen next. David even more than Colby.

"Are we sure this is absolutely sure this is all necessary?" David asked, a minor note of pleading creeping into his voice.

"David" Sister Anne responded sternly, "We've thoroughly discussed the matter. If you've a better idea, now would be a good time to bring it forth." She waited, knowing she had the unhappy Sinclair in a corner.

"Come on, pal" Colby said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "I'm not anymore thrilled about this than you are, but we got no choice. Morelli's gotta know we made it out of the water by now. He doesn't know where Charlie is yet, but he knows how to find us. Sister said they're already casing the joint. Let's get this over with so we can never talk about it again, huh?"

"Uh, Mr. Eppes" David said, can I ask how you got into the office?"

"Sister Willhemenia let me in here to wait for you" Alan supplied.

Right, of course, Sinclair considered silently as he and Colby left C & D. Time to have another talk with Sister Willie about when to use the spare key. He'd let Colby do it. She liked him better.

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"Alright now, gentlemen. Let's have a look at you" Sister Anne ordered briskly a few minutes later, entering the room. "Stand up, turn around so I can check and make sure everything is as it should be."

"Sister, would you mind not sounding so cheerful. David's in mourning" Colby joked, smirking at his partner. Granger's green eyes were alight with mirth.

"Why don't you close your head, Colby" David snapped. "I'd like to know what you think is so funny. You're boiling in the same stew, ya know."

"All too true, my friend, but I wasn't called upon to make the supreme sacrifice. You were, and you did, and your country thanks you. Sister, do we have time for a moment of silence?" Colby asked, placing his right hand over his heart.

Sinclair's thundercloud scowl grew more pronounced.

"That will do, Colby" Anne reprimanded. Turning away so her smile was hidden from view, she continued. "We need to get going. We've been gone quite some time now. That nice Mr. Eppes won't be able to leave until we do, so let's proceed, shall we?"

"You first" David barked, irritated by Colby's brazen enjoyment of the situation.

"Nah!" Colby deferred. "You first. I want you where I can see ya, just in case you try to do a fade."

"The day is wearing on, fellas. Let's be off!" Sister Anne urged brightly, sweeping into the hallway.

Knowing he'd put the moment off as long as possible, David heaved a huge sigh, and followed. Colby was last out. The room was not completely emptied, however.

Left behind, martyrs to the cause, lay the remnants of David Sinclair's once meticulously maintained beard and moustache. Their sacrifice had been deemed necessary in order for the ruse to have a chance at success. David felt like he'd lost a limb. What he and Colby were wearing only made it worse.

Alan Eppes, who'd arrived at C & D before the Morelli gang members, waited patiently in David and Colby's office as he'd been asked.

"We're leaving now, Alan" Sister Anne informed him. Alan stood, preparing to leave.

"I called Don, he's back in his office, finally" the Eppes patriarch said. "You get back to Charlie and tell him I…" His mouth dropped open. With an effort, he closed it. "I won't ask" he said. "I'm sure it would take too long to explain."

"Mr. Ep- uh, Alan, thanks for being able to leave it alone" David said gratefully. "Unlike some people." This latter comment was directed back over his shoulder at Colby.

"Remember, Alan, wait until we draw them off before you leave" Anne advised.

"I will" Alan responded. He handed Colby a small piece of paper with his phone number on it. "Please, be careful and tell Charlie I love him" he requested.

"Roger that" Colby answered. Don and Charlie Eppes were lucky to have such a man for a father.

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Johnny "Hammers" was so bored he was seriously thinking about shooting Tommy Sarrata, dozing peacefully beside him in the car. Not killing him, mind you, just shooting him. Maybe in the knee. Just to see what would happen. Just for something to do. The guys the boss told 'em to sit on sure wasn't good for any entertainment. He and Tommy had been sitting in the car watching C & D Private Investigations for a couple of hours now, and…nothin. Not a single thing. No PI's, no professor, no nothin'. Only the nuns and the rug rats at the school, or whatever it was, gettin' delivered some vegetables. Johnnie hated vegetables. Ever since he was a kid. Waste of space in a man's stomach as far as he was concerned. Johnny preferred red meat and lots of it. Rare, wit onions. Maybe a beer and a couple of scotches to chase it down. Yeah, yeah, that was it. When he and Tommy finally got done wit this dumb job da boss had sent them on, he was gonna go find him a steak. A nice juicy porterhouse. Yeah, that was exactly what he needed…. Wait a minute. Was something, at last, happening over there? Johnny sat up a little straighter, the better to see from his and Tommy's vantage point across the street and down the block from the property in question. The door to the attached garage was up (his musings about steak and whiskey caused him to miss that part) and one of the private dicks car's was pulling out onto the street. They was driving away! What? How? He and Sarrata, they hadn't even seen anybody go in the place! Never mind, that didn't make no difference. He knew the Ford belonged to one of the men he was told to keep track of. That's all that counted. He reached over and gave Tommy a couple of medium sized slaps in the face.

"Wake up, youse! They're leavin'! We gotta follow 'em, see if they lead us to the teach! They might even have him in there with 'em" Johnny growled, starting the car.

"Huh?! What, what are ya, what you talkin' about?!" Tommy Sarrata sat up, trying to shake the cobwebs out. "Whadda ya talkin' about, leavin'? who's leavin'? There aint nobody there ta leave! And what'd ya hit me for?!" Tommy's limited brain capacity struggled to process more than one thought at a time.

"Tell that to them!" Johnny yelled, gesturing at the Ford coupe they were following at a pretty good clip. He couldn't tell who was driving but it looked like there was only one person in the vehicle. "Hammers" stood on the accelerator, closing the gap. Whipping the car into the outer lane, he and Tommy's car surged forward, pulling around the Coupe. He'd cut them off. If the professor was in the trunk or somethin', and he, Johnny, could hand deliver the teach back to the boss…Johnny smiled broadly, imagining the reward he would receive. He wouldn't be sharing it with Sarrata. After all, Johnny mused, it was my idea anyways. Fancying himself a pretty good wheel man, Johnny pulled in directly in front of the other car, leaving just the right amount of stopping distance and stomped the brake. The Buick lurched to a screeching halt. Behind them, tires squealing on pavement, the Ford did the same. Not wanting to give the other car's occupants a chance to react, Johnny piled out, hand on the gun in his pocket, with Tommy following. He advanced on his objectives, visions of a happy Lou Morelli dancing in his head. These guys wasn't gonna know what hit 'em. They was gonna give up the goods. They's was gonna…Huh? What the…what was this?! This wasn't no shamuses. This wasn't even a guy! This person was a…

"I do hope you have a reasonable explanation for your poor driving! You might have killed me! Honestly, what were you thinking?!" Sister Anne was only partially acting at this point. She knew good road work when she saw it. This pair of oafs weren't even close. Anne wanted to get to heaven, but not today!

"Ssss…sorry…sorry, uh, Sister! We thought you was someone else!" Tommy blurted thoughtlessly.

Shut up, stupid! Johnny thought. Frowning darkly at Sarrata, he addressed the nun. "Uh, Sister, we were mistaken, that, that's all. Sorry. We, we wasn't trying to hurt nobody" he babbled, uncomfortable. He was thinking hard. If this car had a Roman Catholic nun in it, where was the PI's? What was a nun doing with their car? How did… wait a minute!

"Uh, Sister, could we's ask ya to open the trunk? Just so's we could take a quick look, mind ya." The wheels in Johnny's mind slowly turning, he saw a solution yet within reach. The other guys was smart, but, Johnny considered immodestly, I ain't no rube, either.

"I beg your pardon?" Anne objected, with just the right amount of indignation. The longer she could stall the better. "I will not! The very idea! Are either of you familiar with the concept of private property?!"

"I'm afraid I'm gonna have to insist, uh, Sister." Johnny said, desperate to be right. The professor better be in there, he knew.

Anne drilled the pair of criminals with her patented 'unhappy nun' look and allowed them to squirm for a moment before producing the key to the trunk, given to her by David Sinclair. Marching to the car's rear, she inserted the key and flipped up the trunk lid…revealing the necessary elements for remedying a flat tire and nothing else.

Johnny's heart and stomach hit the ground. No professor, no private I's, nothin' but a spare and a jack. His big gamble was a busted flush! Unthinking, he uttered a not so muffled curse. Too late, he remembered who stood before him.

Having heard much worse before and since taking her vows, Sister Anne nonetheless determined to stay in character. Throwing herself into the part, she gasped as if shocked. "Watch your language, young man!" she demanded. Deciding to embellish somewhat, she pulled a long, heavy steel ruler from the sleeves of her voluminous habit. Never underestimate the value of a good prop. "Hold out your hands, both of you! Knuckles up! At once!" she instructed, drawing herself up to her full height.

Johnny and Tommy, both former altar boys, failed ones, automatically responded to the note of command in the Sister's voice. It occurred to neither one of them to refuse to comply.

_WHACK!! WHACK!! _The street toughs flinched as their punishment was meted out. Normally any schmo thinkin' of taking either one of them on would get pumped full of lead, but this was a nun! What else could they do?!

"Get back into your car and be off, right this moment" Sister Ann ordered, thinking she'd probably delayed long enough. She needed to get back to the rectory with Sinclair's car.

"Ye…Yes, yes Sister!" both thugs mumbled, veritably racing for the car while massaging their smarting knuckles. They couldn't get away from this unlooked for humiliation fast enough. Besides, they had to get back to C & D Private Investigations. Something might yet turn up there and it beat reporting back to the boss with disastrous results.

Anne watched them drive off with satisfaction. Hopefully, the plan worked and Colby and David were well on their way back to St. Theresa's by now. She started the coupe, (a sweet set of wheels), patted the dash appreciatively, and headed for the church.

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Observing carefully from behind the barely cracked gates of St. Theresa's Children's Home, Granger happily saw the car carrying Lou Morelli's two goons go charging off after Sister Anne and David's car. So far, so good.

"Ok, they're gone. Now we need to be, too" Colby urged, getting in on the passenger side of the parish's pickup.

"I don't know how, but I think we might just pull this whole crazy plan off!" David answered, driving the truck thru the gates. Making sure there was no sign of Morelli's men, he turned in the opposite direction and drove for St. Theresa's and Charlie Eppes.

"I sure hope Sister Anne is gonna be alright. I mean, anybody working for Morelli…" Colby repeated his only misgivings with the plan. He hadn't been happy about involving Anne further but could see no alternative.

"Don't worry about Sister" David assured his partner. "Believe me, she can take care of herself. Besides, even Morelli's people wouldn't think of harming a nun!"

"Hope your right" Colby replied, settling back for the ride. "You know, you've introduced me to some very unusual people since I've known you!"

"Variety is the spice of life" David grinned. He'd come to know Father Nathaniel on a case he'd worked prior to meeting Granger. Sinclair had rescued the priest's kid sister from a dire situation after the girl had fallen in with the wrong crowd. Returned to her family, Nate promised David that if the favor ever needed repaying….

Arriving at St. Theresa's Catholic Church, they pulled into the car port, greeted by Father Nathaniel. The peculiar, anxious look on his face was momentarily replaced by one of shocked amusement as he beheld Colby Granger and David Sinclair.

"I must admit, you make two of the more, um… uncommon nuns I've ever seen." Nate's composure threatened to desert him completely.

"Father" David said resignedly, "I think I ready to kick the habit. Can we please get inside so I can take this thing off?!" He scratched. This nun's habit disguise was itchy. He and Colby had thrown off Morelli's gang, and even driven directly past the_** Sterling Room. **_His beard and moustache would be re-grown,but the cost to his dignity might be beyond repair. Especially if Granger had anything to say about it, and he would.

Snickering softly, Nathaniel nodded and led the way.

"We really need to talk to Charlie" Colby informed their host. "I think we found a way to break the log jam with his brother, and we got some news for him."

Nate stopped, sobering and turning. "Oh, dear, that's what I need to tell you. I tried to call, both your office and the Home, but you'd already left." He seemed very upset now.

"What, Father, what is it, what's the problem?" David asked, puzzled and beginning to get worried.

"We have big problem" the priest answered. "It's the professor. I thought he was sleeping and went to take care of some things, church business. When I went back to check on him, well, I'm very sorry, but… well he was gone!"

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	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: 'Kay, I think I has ta say dis one more time, but…I ain't got no part of Numb3rs or any of da Numb3rs characters. Da original characters is mine. **

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"Ramanujan" Colby hissed as he and David got the news from Father Nate. "He's trying to get back to her. That's gotta be it!" He ground his teeth. They should've seen it coming. Charlie was goofy over the alluring crooner. No amount of common sense reasoning could dent his faith in the woman. Granger shook his head. Love made people act all loopy sometimes. The men talked further as Granger and Sinclair shed the nun's habits. Pants legs and shirt sleeves were gratefully unrolled.

"I feel as if I've been derelict in some way" Nathaniel put in. "I should've kept a closer eye on him, but I didn't realize, I mean, I suppose I didn't think he'd…"

"You don't need to feel responsible for this, Father" David told him. "If anybody's to blame here, it's me and Colby. We should have given you some kind of warning. The professor, he's got it bad for this woman. No matter what anybody else tells him, he's not gonna rest until they're back together. He probably started planning his great escape from the moment we got here. We knew that. We should've told you."

Colby was nodding agreement. "David's right. This isn't your fault. You have no reason to think it is. It doesn't matter anymore anyway. What we gotta do now is get to him before he can do something very not smart, like get himself found by Morelli's thugs." He looked at Sinclair. "How 'bout we split up? You take your car and check Ramanujan's place, I'll go in the direction of the club. He's gotta be headed to one of 'em."

"Sounds like a good plan" David replied "We can cover more ground that way. Look, Father Nate, thanks for all the help. Don't feel bad about Charlie. There's no way you could have known. I'm sure we'll get to him in time."

"Not if we don't get moving, we won't" Colby prodded. "Whichever one of us finds him first should take him _to __**Rubys."**_ He figured it would be easier than trying to make it back to the church unseen by any of the Morelli's.

The place he named was Sinclair's one time restaurant. Now under the ownership of David's former cook Ruby Griggs and her husband, they knew the location was safe. Currently C & D used _**Rubys **_to check in when they had to split up while working on a case, so they knew the married couple could be trusted to keep their mouths closed about any unexpected company. Also, if they could get the professor there, he'd stay put until his brother and the FBI could help protect him from Morelli. Ruby's strapping teenaged son Tilman would make sure of that.

"I was thinking the same thing" David responded.

As he finished speaking, Sister Anne arrived with Sinclair's car. With no time to explain, David accepted the keys from her politely, got in, and drove off.

Colby turned to the priest and nun. "Again, Father, Sister Anne, thanks for everything. You two make quite a duo. I'm glad you're on our side, I think." He grinned. "See ya." Leaving Father Nathaniel to explain to the perplexed Anne, he waved a goodbye and took off on foot.

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Charlie ducked into the doorway, hyperventilating and mopping his brow with his sleeve. That was his second close call. Lou Morelli, after finding out Charlie was alive and well, flooded the streets with his men. And every one of them carried instructions to keep their peepers peeled for one Charles Eppes. With a prodigious brain and keenly analytical judgment , Charlie was aware that his actions were foolhardy at best. If Morelli's men spotted him, it was all over for him and Amita. At least it would be when the gangster got it thru his head that the Fed couldn't be breeched. The professor also felt lousy about slipping away from the church without a word to Father Nathaniel or Granger and Sinclair. It was a poor way to repay them for their hospitality and protection. They might have simply turned him over to Morelli and gotten the criminal boss off their backs. Instead, they'd risked their lives to keep him from harm. And he'd repaid them by this pulling this crazy stunt. He realized he was spitting into the wind, but he couldn't stop himself. He _had_ to get to Amita. He had to make sure she was safe, or at least that she was not bearing the brunt of Lou Morelli's frustration.

He cautiously poked his head out and took a peek. The coast seemed clear. Mashing his borrowed cap down and turning up his collar, he hoped to mask his features from any prowling Morelli employees. He really only succeeded in making himself look more conspicuous. Math might have been his forte, but he was lousy at skulking. He was so nervous and preoccupied he barely paid attention to where he was going. Mind on Amita Ramanujan, he never saw the couple coming towards him until he bumped hard into the middle aged woman.

"Oh!" she gasped, stumbling backwards and nearly falling. Her male companion steadied her, glaring hotly at her apparent assailant.

Charlie, aghast at his inattentive clumsiness, reached out apologetically. "I, I'm terribly sorry! I didn't mean…are you alright?"

Still flustered, the woman back away, her mouth forming a startled "O". His jaw clenched in an angry frown, the man who'd been walking beside her shoved the CalSci fugitive.

"Why don't you watch where you're goin' mac?! You walked right into my wife!"

The irate man was shouting, attracting a fair amount of attention from passersby, some amused, and others, hoping for fisticuffs.

"Herman, it, it's nothing! I'm fine. It was an accident!" Herman's wife regained her composure, saw all the staring and wanted to sink into the pavement.

"No, Madge, it ain't!" Herman yelled. "He almost knocked you down! I ain't letting him get away with that!"

Madge sighed. Herman had come out of the womb bad tempered. Her mother said it all the time. Some days it seemed like he got out of bed spoiling for a fight.

Charlie tried again to apologize. "I really sorry, I, I didn't mean to walk into you-"

He was in the middle of his explanation when the touchy Herman grabbed him, taking a fistful of collar in each hand.

"I think you did mean it! I think you got no regard for anybody else. I think ya needs to be taught a lesson and I'm the guy what's gonna do the teaching."

With that, the much larger Herman drew back a meaty paw, calling class into session.

Charlie Eppes, who prided himself on being a man of intellect rather than force, tried to raise an arm to shield his face, but it was knocked away. He winced, and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the blow that never landed. Flailing about for support when Herman abruptly let go of him, he cracked an eyelid.

Colby Granger had Herman's right arm in a rock hard double handed grip. Tilting upward with an elbow, he used it to clock Herman square on the latter's cleft chin. Letting go of the other man's arm, Colby gave him a bop to the beezer.

"Ow!" Herman wailed, sounding surprised, holding his offended beak. "You hit me! I think you broke my nose!" A bully from his schoolyard days, he was unused to being on the receiving end.

"Yeah?" Granger threw back. "Well next time try picking on somebody your own size! Now take your wife and breeze outta here before I cool ya! Go on, beat it, Graziano!" Colby ordered.

The mortified Madge rushed in, plastering a lace trimmed handkerchief to her spouse's bloody nose. Grabbing Herman by a lapel, she pulled him past the crowd of onlookers and down the street, haranguing him in true wifely fashion.

"You couldn't let it go, could you?! Noooooo, you just had to step in and defend my honor, didn't ya! Even after I told you it was an accident, which anyone could see! You and your temper! You couldn't even give the guy a chance to apologize! He was _trying_ to say he was sorry, Herman! But you wouldn't listen would ya?! No, you had to play the tough guy! Now look at ya! Now, I gotta go home, take one of the steaks we was gonna put on the grill and use it on your face! Let me tell you, Herman Mickleman….." The couple vanished around the corner, Madge still in operatic tune.

I might have a cold blooded greedy psychopath hunting for me, Charlie Eppes thought, but it could be worse. I _could_ be Herman right now! Youch!

"You think he's compensating for a name like Herman Mickleman?" he joked. He turned to find Colby regarding him steadily, unsmiling.

"I'm sorry" Charlie started to explain his actions. "I know I shouldn't have taken off like that. I, I was just so-"

"We can talk about it later" Colby told him. Let's get you off the street and out of sight before one of the people combing the streets for you gets lucky. Come on." They detoured down an alley and off the main drag.

"Where are we going? Back to the church?" Charlie asked.

"No" Granger answered. "Too much open ground to cover. There's too many chances for you to get spotted. I've got someplace else in mind. It's not as good as St. Theresa's but it'll do until we can let your brother know where you are."

"I thought you said you had trouble getting Don to believe you." Charlie was puzzled.

"We did, but that was before we had your pop in our corner."

"My father? You've spoken to my father? You went to see him?" Charlie buried both hands in his dark curls, trying to catch up to what Colby was saying.

"No, he came to see us. You know, professor, I think you're selling your family short. I think they can handle a lot more than you give 'em credit for. This way" Granger indicated a turn into another back alley. _**Rubys**_wasn't too much further. He'd leave a message for David while he was there. He fingered the slip of paper in his pocket. He could try to call Alan Eppes too.

"What about Amita?" The woman he loved was never far from Charlie's thoughts. "I need to make sure she's not being harmed because I-"

"Tell you what, doc." Colby bargained. "You stay where we're going, don't give the Grigg's any trouble until David or your brother shows up to get you, and I'll check on Amita Ramanujan for you. If I can, I'll get her out. I mean, officially she is the one who hired us. Deal?"

"Deal" Charlie agreed reluctantly.

"Good. We got about six blocks to go and we're about to run out of alleyway. So follow my lead, huh?"

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Well, that's out, Colby decided. Doing a careful once over of the area before abandoning the shelter of the alley, he'd spotted some of Lou Morelli's bone crushers slithering by. Heads rotating slowly from side to side, they looked like a carful of human periscopes. It wasn't only them to worry about either. With the kind of cabbage he could spread around, the powerful Morelli could afford to hire extra bodies to be on the lookout. Good thing Charlie was securely deposited in the storeroom at _**Rubys**_ with Tilman Griggs keeping a watchful eye. No one knew of the professor's presence but Ruby and Isaiah Griggs and their son. With any luck, it wouldn't have to remain that way for too much longer.

"When David calls" Granger instructed, "you can tell him the doc's here. If an FBI agent by the name of Don Eppes or William Cooper should show up, that's good too, but nobody else gets to know, huh? And watch him." He gestured to the red faced Charlie. He's smart and he doesn't look it, but he's slippery." Charlie studied the floor, shamefaced. "Thanks." He shook hands with Tilman and his father and gave the motherly Ruby a bear hug before leaving.

Alan Eppes was pleading their case with the Bureau. Now all Colby had to do was talk to him. Granger called the number given him by Alan while still at _**Rubys. **_No dice. Maybe the man was still trying to pound some sense into Don Eppes's head. Having made the acquaintance of the eldest Eppes brother, Colby could see where that might take a little more effort than with most people. He'd give it a half hour and try again. In the meantime, he was going to take a gander around C&D. Might as well see if the dogs were still barking up that tree. So here he stood, peering around the corner of the building across the street. Yep, there they were, big as life and twice as ugly. Three of them, probably just dumb enough to be deadly. No way would he make it inside to C & D Private Investigations without being seen. Now to keep his promise to Charlie. He made for the _**Starlight Room**_ putting together a plan in his head as he went. Since they knew what he looked like, the drunken hick routine was definitely out. He'd need to try something different. He hunched his shoulders as a thought occurred to him. The professor had managed to hide out for days in the _**Starlight's**_ backroom. Maybe, Colby thought, I can make it work for me too. Granger was so busy plotting a way past Lou Morelli's guard, that he momentarily dropped his own. Only for a minute, but it that was long enough. A shadow appeared in front of him, blocking his path. He looked up.

"Well would ya look at what we got ourselves here, boys?! If it ain't one of our old PI chums! How's youse doin, pal? It's real good to see ya again!" rumbled Knuckles Lamone. Behind him, Vinnie and Iggy grinned stupidly, looking way too eager to do some damage. On their way out of town to escape Morelli's expected vengeance for blowing their assignment, Knuckles couldn't believe his luck when he'd spied the man!

Did I just say somebody _else_ was dumb? Granger had enough time to think before they piled on.

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" I can't believe you fell for it, dad!" Don Eppes exclaimed to his father. "They're working for Morelli!"

Don, Alan and Billy Cooper were in a small conference room, with the door closed.

"Of course they're not, Donnie!" Alan shouted back, annoyed. His firstborn had Margaret's stubborn streak. "And don't you raise your voice to me! FBI agent or not, I'm still your father!"

Don held his tongue, marshalling his argument. His father was an intelligent man with a sometimes enviable innocence where people were concerned.

I've gotta make him see… Don thought.

Alan wasn't done. "I know you think I let them pull the wool over my eyes, but you're wrong. I'm not as easy to fool as you think. Don, son, listen to me! They could have turned your brother over to this Lou Morelli person the moment they found him, but they didn't do that! Instead, they protected him. They're still protecting him! At a considerable risk to their own skins, I might add. Does that sound like they're working for the wrong side? Does it?!"

"Dad, Otto Ramsey showed up to snake them out of FBI custody! Ramsey's Morelli's top mouthpiece. Why would that happen if they weren't working for the same boss?!"

"Uh, Mr. Eppes-" William Cooper interjected.

"Billy" Alan turned to the second agent. "I've always liked you. I think you're a fine agent and I like the way you look out for my son, but you need to stay out of it. This is between me and Don." Alan's tone and look left zero room for argument. Cooper subsided.

Alan refocused on his son. "Don, did you not hear what I said? Colby Granger and David Sinclair, they have a priest and nuns helping them hide Charlie. Do you suspect Father Nathaniel and the Sisters at St. Theresa's too? Do you really believe they'd be helping someone who worked for a gangster? I know this job can make you think the worst of people, but you have to trust sometime. And you have to trust me! I'm not as gullible as you think I am. I'm telling you these are good men. They're trying to help your brother! Believe me!" Alan knew how to talk to his son.

At the risk of being told to butt out again, Cooper waded back into the argument. "He's got a point, Don." Ignoring Eppes's betrayed look, Billy continued. "Consider it for a sec, okay partner? Sinclair and Granger, they could have been on the blower to Morelli hours ago, unloaded Charlie and been done with it. But they haven't. If Morelli had your brother his boys wouldn't still be all over the place like a pack of bloodhounds. Plus, I know Father Nate. He's the genuine article. He wouldn't help 'em if he thought they were workin' for Morelli. What your father's sayin', it all makes sense."

Don knew when to fold. "Okay, alright, uncle, uncle. _Maybe_ Granger and Sinclair can be trusted. So now what? What do we do? We still have to get to Charlie before Morelli does."

Alan was about to offer a suggestion when the door opened to reveal Agent Tom Kemper. "Uh, I don't mean to interrupt, but, um, there's a phone call. It's about Charlie."

"I'll take it, Tom." Don told him.

"Uh, well, that's the thing, Don. It's not for you. The caller asked for Alan Eppes."

"Me?" Alan's surprised look was almost funny.

"Yes, sir" Kemper told him. "Some guy named David Sinclair. Says he knows where Charlie Eppes is and said if you're here, he needs to talk to you."

"I guess you better take it, then, huh?" Cooper said. The small conference room emptied quickly.

"Hello, David?" Alan said, accepting the receiver from Tom Kemper.

"Mr. Eppes, yeah, it's me. Listen, I heard from Colby. Charlie's at a place called _**Rubys**_ on Central Avenue. He's fine for now, but the sooner his brother gets there the better. And Alan, tell him to take plenty of backup. I'm on my way there now, but I gotta be careful. Morelli's gang is all over the neighborhood. I gotta go, 'bye." Sinclair hung up.

Alan filled his son in on the conversation. Don grabbed Cooper, Agents Kemper and Daniels and four others. Packing extra weaponry, they piled into several black FBI sedans.

"Dad, stay here. I'll be back in a few with Charlie."

Alan nodded helplessly. It never got easier, watching his son go charging into possible danger. And this time, _both_ his children were involved. All he could do was wait. He looked on as the three cars roared off, and then went back inside like he'd been asked.

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Charlie knew he was doomed. As remorseless as an approaching night his stalker dogged his every move, slowly cutting off all avenues of escape until there remained but one choice. With what dignity he could muster, Professor Charles Eppes bowed to the unavoidable. If he must face death, then he'd make it death with honor. Reaching out he gently tipped over his king, resigning.

"You didn't have to do that Professor" Tilman Griggs told him with a lopsided smile. "You still had at least two more moves."

"At which point you would have had me checkmated, Tilman, as we're both aware." Charlie had never been a sore loser. "Are you positive you don't want to enter CalSci's next sponsored tournament? With your gift for the game, you might even take first place."

"Nah" Tilman shrugged off the suggestion. "Me and my dad, we play for enjoyment. That's what I like, just to enjoy playing. In a competition, it wouldn't be the same. People take it too serious. Win a couple of games and before you know it, the other guy's offended, accusations are flying, names are being called. It's not nearly as much fun. This is better. Um, I have to go out front for a while, take care of the customers while my dad goes to the bank." Tilman appraised his guest with a look that went far beyond his sixteen years. "Can I get your hand on it that you won't do something stupid, like, maybe, leave?"

"I promise, I'll stay right here. You have my word. I will not venture out of this room" Charlie swore, sealing his words with a handshake.

Tilman accepted the guarantee with a single nod of his head and left.

Since he wasn't sure how long the young man would be gone, Charlie wasted no time. He planned to keep his pledge. No trips outside, but, he'd noticed something earlier. Ruby and Isaiah Griggs often did the necessary paperwork for their business at a small desk in the corner of the storeroom. On that desk, sat a lamp, a cup filled with pens and pencils, a typewriter, and, most important of all, a working telephone. The second the door closed behind Tilman, Charlie headed for the phone. He couldn't see her right now, but maybe he could talk to her.

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"Easy, Don! You'll be looking Charlie in the face in about fifteen minutes. If you don't get us all killed that is!" Billy Cooper yelled as Don slewed the car around another corner. Cooper grabbed for any purchase he could find as the Dodge sedan came uncomfortably close to becoming a two wheeled vehicle.

No response. All Don could think of was getting to his brother. When Charlie first disappeared, he hadn't known what to make of it. He only knew something must be drastically wrong for Charlie to vanish, leaving his father and older brother thinking the worst. Plus, walking away from his beloved math? When Charlie was three years old, their mother Margaret caught her baby boy scribbling on the dining room wall in bright red crayon. In the midst of plotzing over the damage and trying to imagine what she would say to Alan, she noticed something. Her little one's doodling wasn't stick figures or some abstract rendering of dogs or cats. It wasn't cars, boats or choo-choo's either. It was an incredibly complicated long division problem. Not only that, but the solution was correct, right down to the last digit. Alan returned home after a long day of city planning to find his wife sitting in a corner of the sofa, softy contemplating their youngest child. Charlie, oblivious to the impending hoopla over his brain cells, was busily arranging his building blocks into the shapes of quadrilaterals. A citizen of math universe almost from the moment of his birth, numbers were as much a part of Charles Eppes's world as breathing. Throwing his beloved chalk boards and equations over without explanation? Not his little brother.

To complicate matters further there was, if Granger and Sinclair were to be believed, a mysterious femme fatale involved. Charlie with a gorgeous chanteuse for a girlfriend? Talk about the world being upside down!

Don's intention to reach Charlie was so intense that the surrounding city bustle and activity became irrelevant. He floored the accelerator and barreled on, swerving in and out of lanes and around other cars. The two chase vehicles, carrying the other agents, struggled to keep pace. When several Los Angeles fire department trucks came screaming up behind them, sirens braying, not only didn't the FBI cars yield, but Don nearly collided with one of the red, white and gold behemoths.

"Don!" Cooper bellowed, jerking the wheel sideways. It shouldn't be much further but with his partner's driving they might not make it there alive! "We ain't gonna do Charlie any good by gettin' ourselves plastered all over the pavement!"

"Just hang on, Billy!" Don yelled back, more focused than ever.

The LAFD trucks, one of the ladder variety, sped on, bypassing their temporary obstructions. The deafening wail of the sirens faded, only to be replaced by others. As Don attempted to resume his urgent mission, several ambulances cut he, Cooper and the other agents off, following the path taken by the firefighters.

"Looks like something went about as bad as it could, and I think it's close." Billy commented. Craning his head out of the window, he could see, and now smell, all the components of a major blaze nearby.

As Don wheeled onto Central Avenue, a huge explosion rocked the entire neighborhood. The concussive force of the blast was so enormous that the car's occupants felt it from where they were. Clouds of sooty, acrid smoke filled the air, choking off breath and burning eyes. Don stood on the brakes, stopping the car so suddenly that the following agents narrowly avoided a chain reaction crash. With no warning, the FBI convoy was pelted with flying glass and debris. Their only protection was remaining inside their cars.

"What, what was that?!" Cooper yelled.

Instead of responding, Don shifted into park and killed the engine, staring, open-mouthed. One block ahead, a large combination laundry and warehouse was burning. The heat and smoke generated by the fire was compounded by secondary explosions. Excited by the flames, an immense shipment of illegally stored fireworks cooked off. Their erratic trajectories imperiled anyone close. The injured were being attended to or rushed to hospitals. The dead were covered by sheets and blankets. They would have to wait. Desperate to contain both damage and casualties, the police and fire departments were busy cordoning off the area. Unfortunately for Don, that included Central, which the building's rear backed on to. He swore. Ten blocks beyond the bedlam of the warehouse lay _**Rubys**_, and Charlie.

The clamor of an air horn forced his attention away from both the blaze and plotting a way around it to get to his brother. More fire trucks and equipment, seeking to attack the enemy from behind, found their access blocked by the Bureau. Don suddenly discovered himself coping with an angry fire captain.

"Get those cars outta the way, NOW! " the man screamed, furious. "Move 'em or lose 'em, jerk!" The gear clad chief jumped back into the cab of the truck, which stormed ahead, just barely giving the FBI agents a chance to get out of the way.

As soon as the trucks were no longer a factor, Don got his team turned around. There had to be a way around all of this pandemonium. He was going to find it. Charlie's life might be depending on it right this minute. They headed back the way they'd come, avoiding being trampled by more arriving fire trucks and ambulances.

"Looks like that thing is gonna tie up everything the LAFD's got!" Cooper yelled to be heard over the din. Give him an FBI agent's job any day over what they had to contend with. He couldn't imagine running _into_ a flaming structure for any reason.

Don headed up Dixon Street, seeking a route around the blockage caused by the fire. As they passed the openings provided by alleys, he peered down them, trying to determine where the barricaded area on Central ended. He saw it! There, no more fire or police vehicles. He cut that way, bringing his fellow agents along. The three cars caromed back on to Central, speeding for _**Rubys**_.

Don was so engrossed in reaching Charlie that he didn't see the woman who ran out in front of him until she was almost crushed beneath his wheels. As the Dodge grew closer, she stopped in her tracks, too shocked to move. Certain he would be unable to stop, or even slow sufficiently in time, he had to try anyway! Putting all of his weight on the brake, the car responded to his demand with a squealing protest of burning rubber and smoke from the tires. At the same time he wrenched the wheel to one side. The ploy didn't work. The car twisted sideways, but still angled at killing speed towards the frozen woman. The high pitched wails emitted by the auto were joined by screams as onlookers saw what was happening. With both strong hands on the wheel, Don fought for control, not daring to breathe. Eyes half closed, he clenched his jaw as the big sedan continued its long, grueling _**SSSSSSSSKKKKKKKKIIIIIIIIIIIDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!**_ They jerked to a body wrenching halt. Opening his eyes completely, Don and the other agents sagged with relief. Somehow, incredibly, there remained a scant two inches of space between his car and his unintended victim. She was alive! Shaking violently and hysterical, but unharmed. Good Samaritans hurriedly guided the petrified woman out of the road.

_SPANG! Spang! Bllllllaaaaatttt!!!! Blllllllaaaaatttt!!! _Now it was the FBI's turn to be surprised as they were rudely introduced to the reason for the woman's heedless flight into traffic. All the men ducked for cover as more bullets flew at them. This couldn't be happening! This was not happening! It couldn't be! It just absolutely could not! No, no, no! Using the massive warehouse fire as an intended diversion, four men were robbing the Central Avenue Bank and Trust! And Don Eppes and his rescue mission had stumbled right into the very teeth of it!

Inside the bank, the McClendon brothers and their compatriots were equally stunned. All the planning that had gone into this job! Finding out about the fireworks stored in the nearby laundry, the small but prosperous bank with only the one guard, all of it just perfect. All the coppers was supposed to be busy with the commotion of the fire! Who was these guys?! And what were they doing here, now, ruining a perfectly good heist?! No matter. They'd gotten in the way! They were about to be moved out of it! Rising up as one, the brothers and their cohorts aimed their Tommie guns at the interlopers and fired!

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"Oh, Charlie!" Amita Ramanuajan gasped, throwing her arms around Charlie's neck. She clung to him, weeping, releasing days of bottled up emotions.

Charlie returned her embrace, holding her tightly as the smell of her jasmine scented hair washed over him.

His furtive call to her apartment had been totally unexpected. She'd been steeling herself for another night in the harsh glare of Lou Morelli's sinister gaze as she sang, her dread growing as the L.A. sunlight began to fade. The gangster's impotent fury at his inability to locate Charlie was reaching a fever pitch. Granger and Sinclair's refusal to play along increased the man's rage. Soon, she and her parents could be made to pay the price. Lou had implied as much that morning. The ringing phone made her jump and she almost fainted when she heard Charlie's voice. She needed to hurry. Morelli's men would be here soon to drive her to the club. Grabbing her purse, Amita rushed out of the apartment, eager to be reunited with the man she loved. Slipping out of the building's rear entrance, she ran to the nearest hack stand, her mind already on being together with Charlie again at long last! He would help her figure out how to rescue her hostage loved ones. Her aching desire to be in Charlie's arms was so strong, she didn't stop to consider how easy it had been to leave her place, hail a taxi and be on her way. Nor did she notice the big Packard trailing two cars behind the Checker. Finally, though, she was with him. It was going to be alright now. Charlie was so smart. He'd help her find a way to free her mother and father from Morelli's clutches.

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David Sinclair, admitted into _**Rubys**_ delivery entrance by Tilman, stepped gratefully inside, extremely happy to be off the streets. Giving Morelli's droppers the clean sneak had taken years off his life.

He clasped Tilman's hand firmly. "Thanks for this. Colby and me, we would've been in dutch without you and your parents help."

"Come on" the teenager responded. "You know you don't have to thank us. Pop would be a stiff long time now if it wasn't for you (another pre-Colby case). Besides, you and Granger, you're like family. Course, Colby's the white sheep of the clan and all…" Tilman trailed off with a grin.

David groaned on cue. "The professor's in the back, right?"

Tilman nodded. "Yeah. I had to come out front and help out with the customers while Pop makes the bank deposit, but the professor, he gave me his word to stay put. I figure he's trustworthy. I'm starting to get worried about Pop, though. Central Avenue Bank and Trust ain't that far away. He should have been back by now."

"He might have gotten held up by the fire. There's a big building burning a few blocks down. Looks like half the fire trucks and john laws in the city are down there. They got everything roped off. Not letting anybody thru. If your dad ran into that, he's gonna have to find a way around it before he can get back here."

"I heard all the sirens. Wasn't none of my concern, so I stayed here. So that's what's happening. Pop, he's savvy enough to stay clear of it" young Tilman told him, firmly convinced.

Colby here too?" David asked.

"Uh, no." Tilman answered, confused. "He, uh, he left awhile back. Said something about checking out C & D. That was some time ago. Expected him back by now too, to tell you the truth."

David swore softly, trying to strangle the sliver of concern Timan's words stirred up. His partner's tendency toward impulsiveness had gotten Granger into trouble a few times. The saving grace there was that Colby learned fast. And that once a lesson was learned, it stayed taught. Plus, the former army lieutenant was tough as nails. He's okay, David insisted to himself. Nothing to worry about. He's probably on his way right now. "I'm gonna check with Charlie. His brother's an FBI agent. He's on the way with some of his buddies. Hope they don't get held up by all that mess" He jerked his head in the direction of the monumental fire. He headed for the back room. Sinclair did a quick knock to warn Charlie he had company.

In the midst of a passionate kiss, Charlie Eppes and Amita Ramanujan sprang apart, flushing like two children nailed during a cookie jar raid.

David was astonished. "How did you… what, what are you doing here?!" He questioned Amita. "How did you know about this place?! I know Colby didn't bring you here!"

Charlie shielded Amita physically by stepping in front of her. "No, he didn't. I called her after Colby left." He gulped, see how angry Sinclair was. "I, I, I, I know what you said, but, but listen, I trust Amita! She loves me and I love her. She would never do anything to hurt me! Don't be mad at her!"

"I do love Charlie! I need to be with him! And I need his help! Lou Morelli, he-" Amita began breathlessly.

Sinclair cut her off. "You're nothing but a stalking horse for Morelli! You hired us on his orders!"

"Yes, I did!" Amita conceded, "but that doesn't change the fact that I love Charlie!" she turned to the mathematician. "I do love you Charlie, with all my heart. I didn't want to do what Lou said, but he has my-"

Again, the lovely young woman was interrupted before she could reveal Morelli's leverage over her.

"Da reunion is very touching" Kunckles Lamone pushed in the alley side door, Tommie gun at the ready. Iggy and Vinnie were with him, similarly armed. Deciding to follow da singing dame around had paid off in spades. "But I'm afraid it's gonna have ta get cut short. Da boss is _very_ interested in resuming your previous conversatin' professor. I thinks youse and da broad here are gonna be comin' wit me." He pointed the lethal firearm at David. He's got plans for you and dat friend of yours, too."

Sinclair took an involuntary step forward, halted when Knuckles raised the machine gun. "What did you do to Colby?!" he rasped, seething. If these goons had killed his friend…

"He's still breathing for now" Lamone answered coldly. "Probably wishes he wasn't, but he is. I ain't saying how much longer dat's gonna be da case, seein' as how da boss is real displeased wit da both of ya. But, dat ain't my call. Enough talk, let's move it. All a' ya's. " Gesturing with the Tommie, he step back, forcing Amita, Charlie and David ahead of him. Iggy was first out, then the captives. Bringing up the rear was Vinnie. Unexpected, the door from the dining room opened to show the surprised face of Tilman Griggs. Vinnie reacted by preparing to shoot the young man. Tilman stared down the muzzle of the gun as Vinnie's finger tightened on the trigger.

"No!" David yelled, seeing Tilman's life in danger. Heedless of the weapons held on him, Sinclair tried desperately to get between Vinnie and Tilman. Vinnie altered his aim to meet the perceived threat.

"Don't kill 'im!" Knuckles ordered. "Da boss wants him alive!"

At the last second, Vinnie changed his grip, savagely smashing Sinclair senseless with the butt of the gun. Tilman stared, unmoving.

"Leave da kid! Come on! Let's go! We got other business! Come on!" Knuckles yelled.

As the shaken Tilman watched helplessly, the gunmen forced Charlie and Amita ahead of them, dragging the unconscious David. Securing his hands and feet with lengths of chain and padlocks, they tossed the insensible sleuth into the trunk and took off. Filling the air were the sounds and smells of the still enormous blaze and of a fierce gun battle emanating from the direction of the Central Avenue Bank and Trust.

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Don Eppes stared down at Carl McClendon's bullet riddled corpse. Nine tenth's of the way to dead, Carl's brother Eugene was headed to a hospital, under the guard of agents Sullivan and O'Keefe. The remaining pair of robbers had thrown down their guns after the McClendon's were taken out. The whole thing was stupid. Carl and Eugene had supposed themselves to be home free with many of the city's policeman tied up helping to manage the Kowloon laundry/warehouse fire. What a pair of dopes. Mistaking Don's reluctance to run down an innocent woman for the arrival of law enforcement opposition, they'd started shooting. Now, one was croaked, the other was probably gonna get that way before long, and as night fell, Don had still not gotten to Charlie.

He turned as Cooper returned from talking on the phone with their boss, Wainwright.

"OK. I got him convinced we're here because we got an anonymous tip that the bank was going to be robbed. He doesn't suspect it has anything to do with Charlie. Halloran and Mitchell can wrap things up here and deal with the police. Charlie's probably going out of his mind by now. Let's go."

Along with Kemper and Daniels, Don and Billy were soon arrived at _**Rubys **_and getting the latest developments from the thoroughly frightened Tilman. The young man's mother Ruby stood by and as they spoke Isaiah Griggs returned. Trapped _inside_ the bank during the holdup attempt and shootout, he was just now free to return to his family.

Don learned how David Sinclair and Colby Granger were connected to the Griggs family.

"Maybe Sinclair and his friend are on the side of the angels after all. Sounds like Sinclair left here a prisoner and they already got Granger, too" William Cooper observed.

"That doesn't help me figure out what Lou Morelli wants with my brother. Or get me any closer to finding the kid" Don answered bitterly.

"Of course it does." Cooper told him. "You've got to start thinking like an agent, Don, not a brother! Look, for now, I'm pretty sure Morelli isn't looking to kill Charlie. He wants him alive for some reason. So for the time being, he's not going to be hurt. You follow me?"

Don nodded, getting a handle on his anxiety and disappointment with an effort.

"Alright, good" Billy continued. "We know we can't go charging into the _**Starlight Room**_ with our guns drawn and put everybody down, right? We got nothing concrete to go on. No reason to accuse Morelli of having anything to do with Charlie's disappearance. Wainwright would just sneer, say Charlie's a big boy and order us to stay away from Morelli and his ritzy patrons at the _**Starlight.**_ In the meantime, Lou has your brother and he's forcing him to do who knows what. On the other hand, partner, who is it that's spent the last twenty four hours at least, with Charlie bending their ear about his troubles. Who's been trying to keep Morelli off of him, huh?" Coop prompted.

Don was quick to understand. "You're saying we find Granger and Sinclair again, and they lead us to Charlie. That they probably know exactly what the deal is between him and my kid brother. If we find them, we pick up where Morelli's taken Charlie and this woman, Amita Ramanujan."

"_There's_ the Don Eppes I've partners with for the last three years. We track Granger and Sinclair to find Charlie." Billy was relieved. He had Don back on course.

"We don't have time to back trace all their movements, find out who they know, figure out where they've been, that sort of stuff." Don was thinking out loud.

"True" Cooper told him, "but they're both apparently now being held by Morelli, if they're still alive, and I think they are. If he wanted 'em dead, his boys would've gunned Sinclair, not taken him with 'em."

"So?"

"So" Billy said, "remember when I told you I'd had Kemper and Daniels running down some leads for us while we were babysitting Humboldt's moll?"

"Yes, wh- wait a minute! They were running down Morelli's holdings. Granger and Sinclair are at one of 'em. With Charlie's whereabouts in their heads." Don's energy was beginning to return.

"Yeah" Coop answered. "And probably running out of time. Let's fade. We got a couple of hopefully still breathing private investigators to find."

Giving the Griggs family his thanks for their help to Charlie, Don and Billy left with Kemper and Daniels, planning their next move.

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Sinclair looked around the darkness of the deserted dockside garage, then tried again. He could taste the tang of the saltwater fifteen feet away.

"Colby?! Colby?! Granger! Come on man, stay with me! Come on, open your eyes!" David shouted, trying urgently to rouse the other man.

In addition to the horrendous beating he'd been subjected to, Colby's upper torso was pockmarked by angry looking, painful burns. The smaller ones were from cigarettes. The big larger ones were from Knuckles Lamone's cigar, clamped perpetually between Knuckles teeth.

Back on Lou Morelli's good side since handing over the prize of Professor Charles Eppes, along with the broad, (what a waste that was!) Knuckles finagled a consolation prize out of the deal. He, along with Vinnie and Iggy, whom he couldn't seem to get quits of, Lamone fumed, got to decide the fate of the private investigative team of Colby Granger and David Sinclair.

"I don't care what ya do wit 'em" Lou Morelli snapped in his customary guttural rumble. "Just make sure they pay. Nobody double crosses Lou Morelli. Nobody livin' that is." The icy matter-of-factness on his boss's bulldog like countenance sent a shiver the length of Knuckles backbone.

Lamone had taken his employer's edict to mean he had free rein where the two gumshoes were concerned. He could do whatever he wanted. Do it quick with very little pain, or slow and make it hurt a lot.

Knuckles being Knuckles, he'd opted for the latter. Pain was something he knew, Lamone reflected rather clinically. How to take it, but mostly how to give it, in small or large doses. Using some sap for a punching bag was fun, breakin' bones even funner, he decided, but hearin' 'em scream? Now dat was special. It made gettin' out of bed worth a man's while. And let's face it, dere wasn't too many things that made a helpless victim scream louder than bein' introduced to da business end of a proper stogie. Besides, it taught the lucky recipient to appreciate a good rope. Like dat Ogden Nash guy his old grandfather like to quote said, "a woman is just a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke."

After poundin' on Granger got old, he, Vinnie and Iggy amused themselves by using their chained up trophy as an ashtray. Then, they'd gotten their hands on the other one, the dinge. Course they didn't have time to play with him properly, havin' to deliver the goods to da boss and all, so they settled for smackin' the second one around some, drawin' a little blood and hanging da guy up like a side a beef until their return.

The chained up David, arms excruciatingly suspended over his head with the same lengths of chain used to bind him earlier, tried once more to awaken Colby, who was in and out of consciousness.

"Colby! Come on man! Open your eyes! Wake up! That's an order, soldier! Wake up! Now! On your feet!" David yelled as loudly as he could, desperately trying to make a dent in the shroud of pain surrounding Colby.

"Alright! Alright! Nag, nag, NAG!" Colby croaked hoarsely , opening his one good eye. The other green orb was swollen shut for the time being. "I'm awake. Happy now?" He coughed, wincing with each one. He wasn't restrained. Knuckles had decided he was too injured to present a problem.

"You gotta stay awake, Granger. I think you probably got a concussion" David told him, relieved.

Pushing into a sitting position by sheer grit, Colby slowly shook his head in the negative. "Me, a concussion? Nah! I been hit harder by Sister Willie. I'm okay. I _am_ feeling a little peckish though. Breakfast was long time ago."

"Yeah, make jokes" David said, "but somehow, I don't think we can count on a last meal with this crowd."

"Who said anything about last" Colby returned, "I think I'm about ready to dangle on these mooks. They haven't been very good hosts anyway."

With that, he hoisted himself painfully, by inches, to his knees and crawled to David's side. Above Sinclair's head was an old fire ax, no doubt used by Knuckles and company in days past for more nefarious purposes. Forcing himself to ignore his loudly protesting muscles, Granger managed to get his feet under him and stand up enough to reach the ax. He hefted in both hands, its weight almost overwhelming him in his weakened state. His one good green eye met both Sinclair's brown ones.

"You ready to drift on these mugs?" he asked.

David knew what he meant. Hoping Colby's aim was equal to his moxie, he nodded. "Take the swing. Do it"

Just as his partner was about to comply, the door crashed open. Bursting thru, Knuckles Lamone, backed by the ever present Vinnie and Iggy, jumped Granger, their superior numbers more than a match for his depleted strength.

"Now, boys, we ain't havin' none a dat. Youse two, you wasn't gonna leave wit out sayin' so long, now was ya? I got annuder way for the two of ya's to go bye-bye."

He turned to Iggy. "Go get da stuff. All of it. Help him bring it in" he ordered Vinnie. Once everything was in place, they got down to brass tacks.

The entire process took just about an hour or so, but in the fullness of time, the three newly restored Morelli henchmen surveyed their handiwork.

"Dat's good, real good" Knuckles pronounced, plopping his butt into a chair. There _was_ a certain amount of satisfaction in a job well done. Normally he hated any kind of manual labor, but dis…

"Now all we has ta do" he told Iggy and Vinnie, "is wait." Interlocking his fingers, he stretched, placed his hands behind his head, propped his feet up on the desk and corked straight off.

Vinnie and Iggy, easily bored, began a game of five card draw after about five minutes.

"I think we've just been insulted" Colby told David. "I mean here we are, all dressed for the dance and our escorts can't even be bothered to pay attention. I think that's pretty rude, don't you?"

Looking down at the slowly drying concete which encased he and Colby's feet, David could only snort at his partner's weird sense of humor. It looked like curtains for C & D Private Investigations.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Ok, hep cats. I think dis is probably gonna be da last chapter. So, before I says so long, I'm gonna tells ya one more time for da record. I ain't got nuttin ta do wit Numb3rs or any a da Numb3rs characters. Now, dats over. Let get to da finale.**

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The part that really got Colby's goat, aside from the concrete galoshes, that is, was that after all he and David had done to try and prevent it, Lou Morelli still managed to put his slimy digits on Charlie Eppes. He'd known the professor slightly more than a full day, but got a good impression of the guy. Like, as if given the chance, the youngest Eppes might be someone worth getting to know. Colby was a private person. Since his father's death when Granger was fifteen, he'd found it somewhat difficult to make friends. To let too many persons past his self imposed barrier. David Sinclair had been one of the few. Charles Eppes was a potential addition to that select company. Now it seemed Colby would never get the chance to find out. He snorted bitterly. Lou Morelli. The man was a menace to society just by existing. He spared a moment's consideration for Amita Ramanujan, too. Even though she'd been acting on Morelli's instructions, and had practically walked Charlie into the trap, Granger could feel some pity for the woman. The gangster had used his songbird to find the professor. Now that he had them both but only needed one, at least for now, Colby harbored no illusions as to Amita Ramanujan's ultimate fate. He looked to his left at David, who was fixin' to be rubbed out because Colby hadn't had the smarts to tell the Ramanujan woman "No thanks, doll face." The whole thing stunk like a clip joint sittin' on top of a garbage dump.

Knuckles Lamone roused from his nap, stretched and yawned, scratching himself like the world's homeliest sleeping beauty. Rubbing a hand across ten hours worth of five o'clock shadow, he plunked both feet on the floor and stood.

Vinnie and Iggy had abandoned their cards in favor of some shut-eye. Vinnie sat with his head propped in an upraised hand, drooling. Iggy snored, head back, mouth open, arms dangling at his sides. Knuckles interrupted their slumber by kicking Iggy's chair out from under him.

"Wake up, da both a ya's!" Knuckles ordered brusquely. The de facto leader of this motley crew, he had no problems with mistreating his workforce. Lumbering over to the soon to be deceased David and Colby, he rapped the sides of the concrete blocks that had been poured around each man's feet up to the ankles. Testing for hardness with an iron bar, he deemed both to be satisfactory.

"Git over here! Help me get 'em to da water's edge so's we can toss 'em in!" he commanded.

Unhooking first Sinclair and then Colby's chained arms from their uncomfortable overhead position's, both men's hands were rebound behind them. One by one, they were wrestled to the edge of the stone platform that rested next to the wooden dock. Gagged to prevent them from speaking, neither could do more than issue muffled objections.

"So, dey both goes in, just like dat, huh?" Iggy giggled, a shrill sound, utterly devoid of any shred of intelligence.

"No, stupid!" Knuckles grunted, disgusted. Why did he have to get saddled wit dis pair of morons? He uttered a curse. "Wit dis stuff weighing 'em down, dere too heavy ta dump 'em both at da same time. We gotta do it separate! First one, den da other!" He might as well be explaining things to a tree stump, he sighed.

"Dis one goes first!" he told Iggy and Vinnie, selecting Granger in a completely arbitrary way. Ignoring Sinclair's suppressed protests, the trio of killers maneuvered the helpless man onto the wooden dock. As the decaying wood of the neglected dock creaked under their combined weight, Vinnie and Iggy hurriedly climbed back up on to the stone ledge. Thoroughly enjoying himself, Knuckles Lamone, in a fit of ego, removed Colby's gag.

"It's, uh, customary at dese occasions to allow da soon ta be stiff a few last words. So, does ya has anything ta say before I put ya over da side?" He mocked.

"Yeah" Colby responded. "If your ugly puss is the last thing I'm ever gonna see, I'm really glad it's dark in here."

Knuckles sneer was replaced by a furious frown. "Oh, youse are a funny guy, are ya? Let's see ya laugh dis off!" He stepped behind Granger and raised a leg to kick his victim into the water.

Suddenly the entire room was flooded with light, growing brighter by the second as it poured in thru the grimy windows. With a tremendous roar, the wooden doors of the garage splintered into hundreds of pieces as Don Eppes and William Cooper's car crashed thru at ramming speed. With one leg and foot still in the air, Knuckles was caught off balance as the huge automobile bulldozed in. He stumbled, reaching for any support he could find, which just happened to be Colby Granger. Latching on to Colby's manacled hands, Lamone's wild grab had the result of pulling Granger back away from the edge. Unable to control his fall, Colby fell backwards, landing, to his delight, _on top_ of Knuckles. Air whooshed out of Lamone as he lay momentarily stunned under the impact.

"FBI!" Cooper shouted the identification. Throwing the Dodge into park and killing the engine, Don and Billy came out shooting, filling the Morelli's environment with hot lead. Iggy and Vinnie weren't the sharpest knives in the drawer, but they knew enough to duck. Diving for their Tommie's, which were never very far away, they scrambled for cover and returned fire. The little dockside garage became an inferno of Chicago lightning as the battle intensified. Defenseless and unable to get out of the line of fire, David Sinclair could only scrunch low and hope not to get plugged by any strays.

As he loosed more rounds, Don Eppes knew a few seconds of sheer relief. He and Coop had rolled the dice, picking this spot and sending Kemper and Daniels to the other most likely of Morelli properties where Granger and Sinclair could be being held. A quick scout unearthed the gangster's Packard stowed in a shed, and Billy's peek inside revealed the imminent demise of Colby Granger. Since they hadn't time for niceties, Eppes and Cooper opted for the direct approach. Don shrank down and reached into the car as the criminals machine guns spat death at him. They wanted to play full auto huh? Fine by him.

"Billy!" he shouted. He grabbed a Thompson of his own, tossing one to his partner across the seat. Cooper grasped the weapon, checked its readiness, and wheeled in the direction of Iggy and Vinnie. Don mirrored the other man's actions. Both agents fire was more disciplined than their targets. A withering cloud of gun smoke and squirted metal descended on the Morelli toughs as their ammo and their hiding places in the small room dwindled. Nearly out of rounds and cut off from his spare magazine, Vinnie desperately tried to make it back to his supply anyway. He didn't get that far. Billy Cooper's well placed slugs caught Vinnie halfway, putting the thug down in a spray of blood and screaming. His Tommie skittered away, landing unnoticed by Don's leg. Iggy saw his buddy drop and decided not to join him. With it still carrying half a load, he tossed the machine gun, grabbing air for all he was worth. The tommy fell to the wooden dock.

"Don't shoot coppers! Don't shoot! I give up! I give up! Don't shoot!" Iggy sank, shaking, to his knees, hands still in the air.

Mindful that there was a third Morelli gang member unaccounted for, Eppes and Cooper moved forward, guns up, prepared to fire. Don went to the edge of the platform and looked over. Colby Granger lay on his back, battered and bruised, feet entombed in concrete, but alive and conscious. There was no sign of Knuckles. William Cooper secured Iggy, made sure Vinnie was thoroughly dead, and then helped Don drag Granger off the dock.

"Took you long enough. What'd you do, stop and have a manicure first?" Colby complained to the FBI agents as they chopped thru the concrete around his feet with a sledge hammer and then freed his hands. Cooper then performed the same service for David.

"You're welcome" Don returned dryly. "There were three of 'em. You have any idea what happened to the other one or are you too busy being ungrateful to be alive?"

Exhausted, Colby shook his head no from his prone position on the floor. "Maybe the awesome might of the Federal Bureau of Investigation terrified him and he bugged out." If it was sarcasm Eppes wanted, Colby was his man.

"Will the both of you shut up?!" David snapped. He looked at Cooper. "I'm assuming you didn't come to the rescue out of the kindness of your hearts?"

"You assume right" Cooper answered. "You know Morelli's got Charlie. Why and where he, Charlie and Amita Ramanujan are now, those are blanks only you and Granger can fill in. We need you, so here we are."

"The why is the easy part" Sinclair said. "He wants Charlie to help him rob the Fed Reserve branch that's here in L. A."

David stopped shy of laughing aloud at the dumbfounded look on the FBI agents faces. That must be the same look Colby and I had when Charlie told us, he thought.

"Wha-, Morelli wants to pull a heist on the Federal Reserve Bank? That's insane, not to mention impossible!" Billy exclaimed. He shook his head, flummoxed.

"Wait a minute" Don put in, "Forget the fact that it can't be done! What gives Morelli the idea Charlie can get him inside?"

"You and your brother should try having an actual conversation every once in a while" Colby said still seated on the ground. He proceeded to fill Don Eppes in on Charlie's input with the Fed Bank's security systems.

"Besides" Colby continued, "it doesn't matter if we don't think it can be done, only that Morelli does, and that he believes Charlie can make it happen for him. He's gonna go thru with it and he's gonna take your brother along for the ride. Probably Amita Ramanujan too, to make sure he don't have no trouble out of Charlie. We don't find 'em before it becomes clear to Lou that his dream won't be coming true, the professor and his lady friend are dead. We don't have time to debate the finer points of Lou Morelli's sanity, we gotta find 'em."

Limping over, David reached down to help Granger stand up. His abused tissues making their displeasure known, Colby did so, slowly. His body had absorbed a lot of punishment in the last several hours, so just about every square inch of him hurt.

It was at that moment that the forgotten but, unfortunately not gone Knuckles choose to make his reappearance. Somehow, Lamone had found a way around the clustered group of Feds and PI's. Roiling with fury and clutching Iggy's deserted gat in his hands, he aimed it at Don Eppes open back. William Cooper, Eppes and David were all turned the wrong way, but Colby, facing the opposite direction, saw the rod about to be fired at the unsuspecting agent.

Granger's hibernating combat reflexes awakened in a flash. "DOWN!" he warned, diving forward. Scooping up Vinnie's abandoned shooter, he opened up, depressing the trigger until the gun responded with a dry click. His aim was true, drilling Knuckles in the heart. Lamone flopped over to die on his back, reflexively spurting bullets into the ceiling, his sightless eyes open in shock.

"And baby makes three" Colby shuddered, dropping the now useless weapon. David held on as Granger did a wobbly climb to his feet for the second time. Colby tiredly regarded Don, who was pulling out of a defensive crouch. "I guess this time _you're_ welcome. Can we go now, please?"

They went.

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The look on his father's face when Don returned without Charlie was almost too much for Don to bear. Alan's relief at his eldest son surviving being shot at yet again warred with his abject fear for Charlie, in the hands of a homicidal crime boss. His father tried unsuccessfully to cover his disappointment at not seeing Charlie come back to the FBI headquarters with his brother. What would happen to Charlie now? Would they be able to find him in time? What was this monster Morelli doing to his son? To the woman his son loved? This nightmare did not appear ready to end any time soon.

Mainly trying to stay out of Don's way so he would not hamper the recovery effort, Alan listened and observed as the situation developed. He tried going home but only got as far as the elevator. It was a long, worrisome, sleepless night.

Notifying the Los Angeles Police of the three dead hoodlums on the docks, Don and Billy next had to deal with their boss, Peter Wainwright. Alan had taken an instinctive dislike to the man. There was something about him that made the semi-retired city planner believe Wainwright would always put his own best interest before anything or anyone else.

Once again, Cooper proved to be more adept at handling Wainwright than Don. Billy explained how Lou Morelli planned to beat the Fed Bank's L.A. Branch and how Professor Charles Eppes figured in. He played on Wainwright's naked desire to be perceived as a major gangbuster and got the AD to support him and Don for a change. With visions of J. Edgar Hoover shaking his hand for the benefit of front page newspaper spreads nationwide, Wainwright allocated manpower and firepower. He even agreed to smooth the way with the Los Angeles Police Department . A massive raid was soon being planned for all of Lou Morelli's numerous assets and properties. If his brother was being held at one of them, Don reassured his father, they'd soon have him back. Things had to very carefully handled, however. Tipping Morelli that the FBI would be horning in on his field trip to the Federal Banking system could get Charlie and Amita Ramanujan dead real fast.

For that reason, only the barest of surveillance was laid on the _**Starlight Room**_. Morelli's base of operations. The caution proved to be unnecessary. Morelli was not in residence at the club, his posh L.A. penthouse apartment, or his Beverly Hills mansion. Apparently, in preparation for the coming attractions, the man had gone to ground. When they found Charlie, Don guessed, Morelli would most likely be somewhere nearby, perhaps even within visual range.

"He's gonna want to keep an eye on the kid. The woman too" Billy posited. "He'll be close. Come on, partner, we gotta get going. We gotta get our team together and our plan worked out. Morelli probably wants that heist to go tonight or tomorrow at the latest. We need be ready for him whenever he decides to move."

"I have to talk to my father" Don insisted. "Then I'm ready to go"

"What about Granger and Sinclair?" Billy asked. Both had spent the night getting patched up by the FBI medical team. Beaten and burned, Granger was in worse shape than David Sinclair.

"Yeah, what about us?" David asked.

Don and Billy turned to see Sinclair standing behind them. His silent approach caught them off guard.

"You're civilians" Don said. "I can't give you permission to be part of an FBI operation. Wainwright's already jumpy. No way he's gonna give clearance for a couple of private investigators to be included."

"Who said anything about asking for clearance?" David replied.

"We don't need permission. From him or you" Colby informed them, arriving to join the conversation. "You know, I've been meaning to take the public tour of the place for a long time now." He traded a brazenly defiant look with David Sinclair. "I think now's a fine time to get a good look at it, don't you?"

"Why, you know, Colby, I think I do" David agreed. C & D turned back to face the FBI agents. "So you see, we're gonna be in on this anyway. How do you want it? So you know where we are, or do we play the wild card?"

"I don't have time for this!" Don grated. "I could have you detained. Make sure you stay out of the way!"

"For how long?" Colby taunted. "Last time I looked, it's still a free country. Citizens of it can go wherever they want. David and I, we both know our rights. I just got done fighting a war to protect 'em. Having us detained but not charged with anything, that's a complication you don't need. And one Charlie can't afford. Remember him? Your brother? The one you should be worried about? What's your beef, anyway? We're on your side, or did you forget already?"

"Donnie." All conversation stopped as Alan Eppes intervened. "Take them along."

Alan stifled Don's brewing objections. "Don't ask me why, but I get the feeling they should be there. I think they've earned the right, don't you?"

His father's appeal made a dent in Don's reluctance. "Dad, you might be right, but there's not a chance Wainwright will agree to it."

"So, don't tell him" Alan shrugged.

Don had no reply.

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Charlie, tenderly cradling the sleeping Amita in his arms, moved carefully to avoid waking her. After spending most of the night fretting alternately over him and then her parents, she'd finally faded off into a troubled sleep. During the night, she'd told him about her mother and father, held captive by Morelli to ensure her cooperation. Her horror at unwittingly leading Morelli's goons to him caused her a great deal of distress.

"I love you Charlie" Amita told him, "more than my own life. I think I fell in love with you from the moment we met. When Lou ordered me to get close to you, I refused. I tried to quit, to get away from him. Then one day he called me at home. He put my mother on the phone. He's taken my parents and he won't say where! He told me if I didn't do what he said, everything he said, he'd kill them. And he will, too, Charlie. The man has no heart. Other people are just things to be used by him. But that doesn't change the fact that I love you, and that I always will."

She'd collapsed against him, crying uncontrollably. Her heart rending sobs tore at Charlie, filing him with a rage he hadn't believed himself capable of. Not at her, but at Lou Morelli. The man was a beast. No, worse, evil. He tried to twist or destroy everything that fell within his venomous reach. For the present, that included Charlie and the woman Charlie loved. The anger stiffened Charlie's mood, making him much less afraid of Morelli. That in turn, gave birth to a decision. Normally, Charles Eppes was a pacifist, believing in brain over brawn. That he was put on earth to get along with his fellow human beings as much as possible and that there were very few things reason, math and science could not solve. Aggressive action was not a part of his makeup. Until now. Until Lou Morelli caused it to stir. Since childhood, Charlie realized, he'd unconsciously depended on Don or in some cases, Alan when defense was called for. Not this time. Charlie would have to depend on himself, to save both he and Amita, and her parents. Alright, so be it. Lou Morelli had coerced, menaced and kidnapped to get what he wanted.

You should be more careful what you ask for, Morelli, the CalSci genius thought. Because now you've got it.

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"Achan! Amma!" Amita Ramanujan exclaimed running to throw her arms around her parent's necks. The family hugged one another fiercely for about thirty seconds before their tear filled reunion was interrupted.

"That's enough!" Lou Morelli's gnarly baritone broke them apart. Lou's men dragged all three Ramanujan's before their boss.

"I didn't bring you here so you could blubber all over mommy and daddy!" the gangster snapped at Amita. "I only need ya ta keep the professor in line! After I get the dough , I chill the bunch a ya! Get 'em outta here!" Morelli snapped at one of his henchmen, roughly dismissing his terrified hostages.

Morelli's cruel pronouncement of their fate made Amita tremble. In only a matter of hours, she and her parents could all be dead at the hands of this man. Their only hope lay with Charlie Eppes's tremendous mental capacities. In the car, he'd whispered a part of a hastily concocted plan to trick Morelli's men into getting themselves captured and lead his brother, Don, back to where Lou was holding Amita and her family. Amita's faith in Charlie was unshakable, but she knew his heroes were people like Newton and Gauss. Somehow, she felt certain those great minds had never conceived the idea of someone like Lou Morelli.

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Ringed by floodlights, the five story white marble building of the Federal Reserve Bank inhabited an entire block of Olympic Boulevard. Relatively new, only opening in 1929, it appeared impregnable. The decorative nature of the steel bars covering its ground floor windows detracted slightly from that sense of impregnability. Anyone assuming that aesthetically pleasing and easy to penetrate were the same thing, however, would very much mistaken. The bank's formidable defenses were already legendary. The facility's daily public tours, the existence of which Colby Granger alluded to while needling Don, touted the utter folly of attempting a robbery. Well armed, sharpshooting guards on regular patrols were only the beginning. A new kind of dog, at least new to most of the bank's personnel, was being utilized by the security force. Heavily muscled with barrel chests, thick bodies and ebony, close set eyes, the black and tan beasts were introduced as Rottweiler's. The canine additions proved to be eminently trainable and the mere sight of them stifled many a budding unwholesome thought before it could take its first breath. Timed locks, false doors, dead-end hallways, and vaults Superman would have trouble with were equally impressive. And those were just some of the features made known to the general public. There were other measures the Fed considered none of Joe and Jane Q citizen's business, quite frankly. Those particular protective steps went beyond the visible spectrum, and might even be considered ahead of their time. Needless to say, the bank's officialdom, laying its head on its collective pillow at night, slept the sleep of the justly sure that "mess with us and you'll be more than a little sorry, you suckers. If you survive, that is." Federal bankers, it seemed, were not above a bit of dark humor.

So why, if they'd bothered to consider the question, had Lou Morelli's best bank robbery crew managed to get so close to their objective without any significant opposition? It should have been a lot more difficult than it turned out to be, to be presently hugging the building's sides, timing the frequent patrols of the guards thru a pair of surplus Army field glasses. But, being the crooks that they were, they _didn't _bother to consider the question. To a man, every one of them preferred to take the easy way thru life. A little work for a lot of reward was a concept they could all get behind. It was probably one of the reasons they were all criminals to begin with. Pop the lock, jimmy the door, crack the safe and help yourself to somebody else's hard earned cheddar. As far as they were concerned it was a winning formula. Regular work was for schmucks. If this job was gonna be a cake walk, so much the better. Their reluctant guide and hostage, Dr. Charles Eppes, was fervently hoping it would be anything but.

"I knew this college guy was playing the boss for a rube when he kept claiming this place couldn't get taken" Sticky Costa commented to one of his thieving colleagues. Sticky glared at Charlie. "This is going a lot easier than I thought it would. We'll be in outta here in no time at this rate."

Charlie, commanded not to speak unless spoken to, glared back. He was also busy calculating probabilities in his head. The numbers kept coming out the same. The outcome of this insane gamble was impossible to predict.

"Yeah yeah" Bruno "Shakes" answered Sticky. "Ya keep saying it. Now shut up so we's can get to it." Bruno's disposition, never very much toward the sunny side as it was, got worse when he was working. Truth to tell, during a job he rather took on the personality of a constipated cottonmouth. His two hundred seventy-five pounds and six feet three inches of mass kept most people from objecting to his unsociability. There was also his worth to Morelli as an enforcer. Nobody had the stones to ask him how someone with his talents wound up with the sobriquet "Shakes." Well, one guy had, but then they didn't see him no more. Maybe he disappeared to the same place as that flying dame, Amelia Earhart. With Bruno getting testier by the second, they got busy.

Thanks to the professor, the robbers had detailed knowledge of the building's layout. They knew exactly how to locate and gain entry to the vaults they wished to plunder. They knew all about the dogs, and the hallways to nowhere wasn't gonna fool 'em. They even knew the thickness of the walls they were up against. Those dumb stuffed shirts wasn't gonna know what hit 'em. Some drilling here, some sneaking there, a little slip sliding around a few corners, (these guards was so easy!) and there they was, standing in the sweet spot. The heady thought of so many dead presidents mere inches away had Sticky licking his lips. The boss would get most of the geetus, of course, but there should be plenty left over for those what did the work.

Motioning the group's peterman forward, the thieves, five in all, realized this would be the toughest leg of the boost. Too bad, but this wasn't gonna be no soup job. Even the densest flatfoot would come running if things started to go kapow! So, no nitro and no boom sticks. The boss had made his wishes on the subject real clear. Morelli waited nearby in the black caddy limo for the gang's return, and to a man, the group of robbers wanted to keep their boss _very_ happy.

Amita Ramanujan and her parents were still under the menacing watch of more of Morelli's hatchetmen, but they were not far away either. Charlie had been allowed to see his love only long enough for their tormentor to pass along fresh threats, and then the lovers were separated.

Monty Drysdale, the gang's safecracker was staring at the huge vault door and sweating bullets. He usually prided himself that the safe hadn't been made he couldn't have his way with, but this… This thing had locks and dials and stuff he'd never seen in twenty years of cracking open all different types and sizes of the things. No way he could back out, though. He was in it to the finish, just like all the rest. They'd all come too far to give it up and leave empty handed.

"Hurry it up!" Shakes ordered in an angry whisper. "It's almost time for the guards to come around again! Get to work on that thing!"

Monty nodded nervously. He didn't have the slightest idea how he was going to open the gargantuan steel door in front of him, but he didn't dare let on. Besides, maybe the impossible would happen and he'd catch a lucky break. Sure, he told himself, right.

Charlie, standing well behind the perspiring peterman, was unable to take his eyes off the gun Sticky had aimed at Charlie's gut. The unspoken message was clear. "You're dead weight now. Keep your trap shut if you want to walk out of here."

Where were they? Charlie speculated. By all his mental computations, they should have been here by now. He couldn't have been wrong, could he? For his and Amita's sake, not to mention her mother and father, he hoped not. The thug holding the gun on him looked positively eager to pull the trigger. Even if something happened right this minute, Charlie wasn't sure if he could get out of the way of the deadly projectiles in time. Right then, the curly haired professor thought he'd spied movement down the hallway and around the corner from the vault door, but it was so fleeting, he decided it was wishful thinking. Disappointment had begun to set in when he saw it again. This time, behind the backs of the crooks, all concentrating on the safe and its opening, he spied the beginnings of a fedora. Continuing into the open, the hat sat perched atop the head of…William Cooper! Billy was here! That meant…

"FBI!!" Agent Don Eppes yelled from the opposite hallway, blowing the entire scene wide open. Agent and cops swarmed in, shocking the crooks into split second immobility. "Loose the guns. Drop 'em! Now!" Don's booming imperatives were at least partially obeyed. Three of the robbery crew, overwhelmed by the sudden appearance of every fed and copper in Los Angeles, it seemed, did exactly as they were told. Guns clattered on the marble floor as the trio fell to their knees, hands in the air. They were apparently brighter than they looked. Tiny and JoJo, on lookout duty, had been jumped and taken out long before.

Doing the smart thing, however, had never been Sticky's strong suit. "When in doubt, shoot it out." That creed had served him well all his criminal career. He chose to remain faithful to it to the end. Wheeling around he drew a bead on the nearest badge, which just happened to be Don. It was the last move Sticky Costa would ever make. "That one is going to come to a bad end" Sticky's teachers at St. Ignatius school for wayward boys had all agreed. Their prediction was fulfilled in this instant. Before Costa could complete his turn, Don brought his own weapon into play, aiming and firing in one motion. The hole in Sticky's forehead was mute evidence to the fact that he would never be a threat to anyone again.

Shakes also chose fight over surrender, with exactly the same result. In the end, Don was well pleased with the tally. Two dead bad guys, three in custody and his younger brother rescued safe and unharmed. He could finally breathe again. He would not have to return to his father with news of Charlie's death.

Not caring at all who was watching, Don engulfed Charlie in a rough bear hug.

"Don't you ever do anything like this again little brother, you hear me?! You had me and dad both scared out of our skulls, do you know that?! You got some serious explaining to do Charlie, you really do! Disappearing like that, getting mixed up with Lou Morelli, of all people?! What were you thinking, Charlie?! I mean, come on!" Don's relief poured itself out in the form of a mild tongue lashing.

"The interrogation is gonna have to wait, partner." Cooper cut the brother's reunion short. "Did you forget, Morelli's got to be waiting for news, and by now, he probably getting antsy. Hey Charlie." Billy greeted the younger Eppes.

"Hi, Billy" Charlie smiled, relived for more than one reason. He dreaded the upcoming explanations he would be making to his father and brother. But someone else, rather several someone else's, were more important now. He turned to Don.

"Amita, her parents, Don, we have to get them out! He'd going to kill them, Morelli, he's going to kill them, kill her!" Charlie was frantic.

"The mysterious lady singer, huh?" Don asked.

"Yes, yes," Charlie didn't have the time to endure Don's scrutiny right now. "They're all in terrible danger! Once Morelli sees his big plan is a bust, he'll finish them! We have to hurry, Don! I know where she is! We have to get to her before Morelli realizes things have gone wrong! Please! We have to hurry!" Charlie began tugging his brother along, pulling Don urgently past the disorderly remnants of the aborted bank robbery.

"Charlie, I can't just up and leave like this!" Don objected, extracting his arm from his sibling's grip.

"But-" Charlie began.

"Don, go, I got this" Cooper told him. "Go save the lady and her family. I can finish up here."

Charlie didn't need to hear it again. "You heard Billy, Don. He can handle this. Now, please, we have to go! Amita! Don, please!"

"I can't tell you how happy I am you picked up on the clues" Charlie told Don as they rushed for the agents car. "I was hoping you'd figure it out, that you'd be waiting"

"Hey, kid, you might be the mathematical genius of the family, but when it comes to crooks, I'm the Einstein, huh?" Don said, a bit cocky. "Or did you really think it would be that easy to cozy up to the main vault room inside the Federal Reserve Bank?"

By this time, the brothers had reached Don and Billy's transportation. Charlie could see someone standing beside the car. A face he'd feared never to see again.

"Hey, professor, good to see you in one piece" David Sinclair greeted him.

"David!" Charlie clasped the other man's hand in a surprisingly firm shake. "I thought, I was afraid…" he broke off, not exactly sure how to voice what he'd been thinking for hours.

"Yeah, well, you were almost right. But it didn't happen that way, thanks to your brother and his partner." Sinclair saw Colby returning. "Let's go find your lady and her parents."

"Colby!" Charlie shook Granger's hand as firmly as he had David's. After everything the C & D partnership had done to help him, they felt like friends. Seeing they hadn't died by Morelli's orders meant a lot to him.

"If it ain't Mr. Math his own self!" Colby grinned. "Good to see you again Charlie, especially breathing." He addressed all three of his listeners.

"I found Morelli" he said, revealing the reason for his recon mission. You were right." This was directed at Don. "He was close. Guess he couldn't stand to be too far away from the action. That big black road hog of his is parked about two blocks up, tucked in an alley. He looked about ready to chew thru the seats."

Colby found he could bear the mobster's discomfort with a great deal of equanimity. "In about five he's gonna get it that his boys ain't coming back at all, let alone with bags of loot. We need to grab him now."

"I was thinking the same thing" On this at least, Don was in complete agreement. "Let's do that." Followed by another car of agents, they sped off.

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Lou Morelli was purple with anger. If all had gone according to plan, Shakes and the rest should be returning by now, bearing a significant portion of the Federal Reserve Bank's contents with them. By this time, Lou fumed, I should be three times as loaded as I was. I oughta be swimmin' in portraits of Jackson, Franklin and Grant. But no, instead there was nothing. No money, no Shakes or Sticky, nothing. Something had gone bad wrong. He'd refused to accept it when the professor kept insisting it was impossible to knockover the Fed. It had to be possible. Morelli had been fantasizing over a score this big since he was a young reform school dropout. Meeting Charlie Eppes and finding out what connections the teacher had to his fondest dream, Lou had become delirious at the prospects. If it wasn't happening like it should have, there could only be one explanation. The professor had pulled a double cross. Somehow, some part of the plan had misfired and his boys were either dead or nailed. Either way, they wasn't comin' back with his money. And it was all the fault of Professor Charles Eppes.

Guess the dame don't mean as much to him as I thought, Morelli concluded. Too bad for her and the old couple. Lou knew he would have to clear out, leave L.A for a while, maybe a long while, start over again elsewhere. But before he did, he'd make sure the professor regretted not playing ball. Completely ignoring the fact that he'd intended to do so all along, he made ready to kill the Ramanujan's. Unknowingly, Morelli and Charlie, Don, Colby and David were now in a race to reach the hostages. The winner would take the pot.

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Amita moistened the cloth with fresh water from the bathroom tap, then carefully applied the folded square tenderly to her mother's face. Holding hands, the elder Ramanujan's did what they could to comfort one another and their daughter. Amita had tried to apologize to her mother and father for their present circumstances, only to be told by her father that she had nothing to apologize for.

"My daughter, none of this is your fault. You must not feel that it is. This evil man, Morelli, he is the only one responsible for what has happened. Not you. We'll be alright. You'll see. Your Charlie, he will bring his brother and they will save us. You'll see. Now sit, try to be calm. Please." Amita's father extended his free arm around his child as she put her head on his shoulder.

No matter what he might say, Amita could not accept that she was not to blame for her loved ones mortal danger. If she hadn't gone to the _**Starlight**_ looking for work, she'd have never come into contact with Morelli, never come within his pernicious reach. Her parents would not be in danger of losing their lives to satisfy Morelli's greed. Of course, she probably also would have never met Charlie, but that was small comfort to her at the moment.

Charlie, she pleaded silently, please don't let him do this to us. A single tear rolled unimpeded down her cheek.

Incredibly, as nerve wracking as the situation was, the lack of sleep she'd suffered began to take its toll, and Amita's eyes started to drift closed. They opened wide again as the sound of a car's engine signaled an arrival. But who's? Did the vehicle's engine sound their rescue or sign their death warrants? They would soon know the answer.

Amita heard other car's coming in behind the first, tires skidding on pavement. There was the sound of heavy, running footsteps and indistinct shouting. Then—

"Morelli! FBI! Don't move!" The terrifying sound of gunshots followed. Lots of them. Morelli's men, on guard in the hallway, had run to their boss's aid. The gunfight, although brief, had an eternal feel to the captive Ramanujan's. The door to the room was flung open-------------

Lou Morelli filled the doorway, bleeding from a gunshot to his chest. Built like a fire hydrant, the wound had slowed but not stopped him. Nobody shafted Lou Morelli and got away with it. The professor had to pay, and pay he would. If Morrelli was gonna take the big sleep, he'd make the teach a sorry man before he went. He took one lurching, labored step forward, then another, pointing his gun at Amita Ramnuajan.

"You die first!" he slurred maliciously.

Amita's father moved to shield her with his own body.

"No!" A shout from the hallway. Charlie.

"Charlie, get back here! You were supposed to stay in the car!" Colby Granger's voice yelled.

Unheeding, Charlie raced down the hallway and into the room where Moreilli sought to fulfill his deadly purpose. Colby arrived hot on the young college professor's heels, gun drawn.

Seeing the man he perceived to be the cause of his downfall in front of him, Lou Morelli exploded. He swung around to kill Charlie Eppes.

"Charlie!" Amita screamed. She dashed across the room, desperate to place herself between Charlie and his would be killer. Two shots rang out, one from Morelli's gun and one from Colby Granger's…

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Epilogue

The worn, worried group kept a constant vigil. Lou Morelli was dead. He would never cause pain again. The life of his final victim, however, still hung by a precariously slender thread. All the skill the medical profession could bring to bear was applied, but in the end, it still became an agonizing waiting game. They could do no more than that.

Once again, Alan Eppes waited to hear news. He sat with Amita's parents, David Sinclair and Colby Granger, Don Eppes and Billy Cooper. Father Nate had even been called. Nobody was Catholic, but David had decided they needed all the help they could get.

The hours ticked by, some in the group sleeping little, some not at all. Grim, fearful glances toward the operating theater were of little use. They were helpless, save for the surgeons. Utterly and completely powerless.

Finally though, the doors opened and the surgeons came out to give the waiting group the words they'd hoped for.

They all stood, clinging to, supporting one another, holding their collective breath.

"Your daughter's going to make it" the doctor pronounced to the Ramanujan's with a gentle smile. It was always a pleasure when he could look into the family's eyes and deliver good news. "The bullet did a fair amount of damage, and she lost a lot of blood, but she's young, in good shape physically and has a tremendous will to live. We expect her to make a full recovery. You can go in and see her, although it will be some time before she wakes up. Please excuse me now" the medical man turned to go.

"Doctor, where is my son?" Alan questioned.

"If you mean Professor Eppes, he's permanently glued to her side. He's holding her hand and whispering encouraging words even as we speak. I'm pretty sure a Presidential decree couldn't pry him away from her." The doc smiled again, then took his leave.

Four weeks hence, her parents hovering protectively, Charlie, with the greatest of care, eased Amita into the backseat of Alan Eppes car as she was released from the hospital.

"I think we'd better start planning for a wedding" Alan Eppes commented sagely to Amita's mother and father.

Accepting the inevitable with a total lack of resistance, Amita's father agreed. He knew his daughter's heart. He wanted her to be happy. "Yes." He exchanged a telling glance with his wife and then they both looked at Alan. "And the sooner we do, the sooner we can start planning for the grandchildren."

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David Sinclair sat, feet propped up on his desk, listen the mellow tunes of Artie Shaw pouring forth from his radio.

Since C & D Private Investigations was enjoying a hopefully brief, but welcome, respite from any new cases, and the existing ones were now in the closed column, he and Colby had free time on their hands. Granger tinkered with his wheels, a brand new '47 Ford Street Rod. Alan Eppes and the Ramanujan parents, learning of his prior car's watery grave, had insisted on replacing it. Colby had tried to refuse, but the parents all held firm.

"Take the car and say thank you, Colby" David advised him, deriving a great deal of amusement from Colby's embarrassment. They'd tried to reward David also, but he rather satisfyingly (but with the tact drilled into him as a child by his mother) informed them that he had everything he needed, thank you very much.

Sinclair was currently enthralled with the _Chronicle_, the society pages to be precise. Normally David had no use for the gossip and stupidity section as he called it. But today was different. The daily had taken trouble to devote a considerable amount of space to the travails of movie producer Sherman Humbolbt, whose offended spouse was presently in the process of reducing his net worth by an impressive sum in divorce court. It seemed the existence of photos of Humboldt literally in the arms of his young mistress had turned the tide of distribution of martial assets firmly in Mrs. Humboldt's favor. The grateful wife, of course, informed as many people as would listen how the pictures were obtained. C & D's business took a definite uptick. He and Granger had been very busy over the last few weeks. They could both use a little rest, frankly.

A knock on the door took him away from his reading. Sinclair peeked around the side of the paper. The identity of his visitor surprised him.

"Agent Eppes, what brings you here?" He and Colby hadn't laid eyes on Don Eppes since shortly after Amita and Charlie had become engaged two months ago. They hadn't expected to ever see him again. No reason for their paths to cross.

"You got a minute? Granger too? Got an, uh, idea I've been thinking about running by the two of you" Don replied.

Totally mystified, David nodded. "Sure, come in. I'll get Colby."

Once both PI's were present, Don cleared his throat and got down to his reason for coming.

"I been mulling this over for a while, talked to my dad and Billy about it too. They agree it might be worth considering."

"What might be?" Colby asked. The last person he'd expected to see in the offices of C & D Private Investigations was FBI Special Agent Donald Eppes. He was as intrigued as David.

"We all think you two are too good to be spending your days and nights taking dirty pictures of wayward husbands and tracking down missing deadbeats. The Bureau could use guys like you, good investigators, not afraid to do what it takes to make the case." There, it was out. Don waited.

"You're saying you think David and I should become FBI agents?" Colby didn't bother to hide his surprise.

"Yeah, sure Eppes. An FBI agent with my skin color!" David sounded even more skeptical.

"The Bureau already does have some Negro agents, you know." He could see Sinclair didn't believe him. "Some of 'em are here in Los Angeles. Check it out for yourself" Don challenged.

"Business has been pretty good lately. And David and I are a team. We either both go for it, or neither of us does" Colby came back, making his stand very clear.

"Fair enough" Don answered. "I'm only making the suggestion. It's up to you what happens after that. I'll go so you can talk it over."

They watched as the door closed behind the FBI agent.

"Didn't see that one coming" Sinclair finally said.

"Me either" Colby admitted. A moment's silence. "So, what do ya think?"

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**One Year Later**

_Don Eppes sighed with relief as he saw the car carrying his brother Charlie, Sister-in-law Amita, and father Alan finally pull into the lot. Amita's parents were already seated inside. The doors would be closing and the ceremony starting soon. His family was cutting this one a little too close._

"_Sorry" Amita apologized as they came rushing up. "Charlie lost the car keys in his office. It took all this time to find them." _

"_That's okay, it doesn't matter now" Don reassured her. "We have to hurry, they're about to get started. They went inside, quickly finding the four seats Amita's parents had been holding for them. Don knew somewhere in the auditorium were also Father Nate and Sister Anne and although he couldn't see them, the Griggs family was also present. _

"_Ladies and gentlemen" the master of ceremonies began, "I would like to present to you, the 1948 fall graduating class of the Federal Bureau of Investigation." _

_Don and his group all watched as the brand new agents marched forth to accept their credentials. Among the class were two he had a singular investment in, Agents Colby Granger and David Sinclair._

**THE END**

**Well Numb3rs fanfiction residents, it looks like this is my swan song. Never say never, but I don't see writing another story in my future, so adios. It's been real.**


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